Revelation

“The stars don’t stop moving.” Marcus’s father was at the telescope. He sat back in his chair and looked at his son. “There is always something else to see.”

“What makes you want to do a crazy thing like ride in a hot air balloon, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Marcus said. He leaned against the inside of the basket, resisted the urge to sit, to lie down. “My girlfriend left me.”

The other man could only laugh.

“Funny thing is,” his father began, “as long as they stay outside, they’re not really a problem. In fact, they can be comforting at night. Their little bodies tapping against the windows and the walls of the building, every night sounds like a soft summer rain.”

Marcus was no good at rowing. They turned three half circles in either direction once the boat was out of the mud and fully afloat. She took a turn with the oars and managed to get them 20 feet or so from the shore. It was a clear night. Things were still. Little wind. The water gathered itself around the body of the boat.

“So few stars,” she said.

“You have to let your eyes adjust.” They sat in the boat and tried to see how still they could be, how easily they could settle into the night, and it into them. The stars never came. The sky was thin and dark and the moon hung low, as empty as the night before.

“It’s much duller than it was at the beginning,” she said.