The Stars Don't Lie

by Boo Walker

Who in their right mind would want to go back to that small-minded backwoods colony where dreams died a slow death?

Love certainly comes with its risks, but the risk of living a life without love is far more dangerous.”

Without love, what is life? You can’t keep running from it. While we’re at it, forgive me for saying so, but that might start with loving yourself.”

We all have our younger selves inside of us, and we’re all fragile. Losing

Because as you get older, you lose your friends and your family. It’s the loneliness that seems to kill us. Don’t let your parents get lonely.”

Shivers came over me as I whispered, “I feel lost.” Realizing I hadn’t clarified whether I was speaking about way back when or in the present, I said, “That’s what I told you in your office.” It hit me that I felt lost now, too, unsure how to help my parents or Mrs. Cartwright—or me, for that matter. Being back was killing me. “‘I know you do,’ you said. Then you said what gave me a flicker of hope, and I don’t even know why.” Doing my best impersonation of her, I repeated her words. “‘You should spend some time looking up toward

the sky.’ You told me that, with some diligence, I’d figure out what you meant. Then you gave me a book. Do you remember what it was?” She searched her memory. “I can’t recall.” “William Styron. Darkness Visible.” “That’s right.”

You came along and gave me this book and showed me it was okay to feel trapped in the darkness. I read every word, and then I read it again and

Mrs. Cartwright adjusted her glasses. “Do you remember the words I shared from Maria Mitchell, the first female astronomer?” She perked up, her voice finding sure ground. “Mingle the starlight with your lives and you won’t be fretted by trifles.” “Ah, I suppose I do remember that quote.” “What she’s going after is exactly why she became an astronomer in the first place, and why I have always impressed upon you and every other one of my students the importance of lifting one’s chin. It’s about experiencing awe, Carver. When you can put yourself in a state of awe, you see things for what they truly are. We’re lifted out of the fragile cage in which our tiny minds are often trapped.”

She rolled her lips together. “Allowing yourself to be absorbed by the largeness of what’s out there will put you in a different state of mind.” She smiled and raised her eyes to the ceiling. “It’s nothing short of magic, my dear boy.”

But I still see a part of you that trudged into my office that day. The part that . . . needs to lighten up and not take yourself so seriously. Quit trying to prove to yourself and everyone else that you matter. You’re still living like the entire world is judging you . . . waiting for you to fail.”

What about the stars and all the lovely things you used to say? Don’t you tell me we’re allowed to just . . . to check out whenever we’d like. I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you believe it. Like I told you the other day, you’re not done. And when did you last look up, by the way?” “I’ve looked up plenty, and what I’ve learned . . . is that even stars go dark.” She chewed on the thought. “Even stars go dark. And that’s okay. I’m ready to say goodbye.

Mrs. Cartwright had said, “I’m not sure if it was Einstein who said it, but no matter. It does the trick. ‘There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is.’ Which one do you choose, Carver?”

“It’s okay to be human,” she whispered.

She shot me with another stream of water. “When are you going to realize you’re wonderful? How many university degrees or patents do you need to add to your résumé before you accept it? What dollar amount in your bank account will finally convince you? Guess what. You’re amazing just the way you are, even if you didn’t accomplish all those things. You deserve someone equally wonderful. Be it Shannon or Ava or another fortunate girl.” I spun my head around, making sure no one was within earshot. “But you know where it starts?” Mrs. Cartwright pressed the nozzle of the spray bottle against my chest and then said in a quiet voice, “It starts with loving yourself.” Fire burned in her irises. “That’s something no one has ever accused me of, not loving myself.” She ignored my attempt to lighten the situation. With a look so straight and stern that she could have sawed down a tree with it, she lowered the water bottle and said,

“You’re enough as you are.”

happened and letting it be. We were all together, all flawed beings trying to find our ways, and it was okay to make mistakes, because we were all making them—we were destined to make them. It was okay to laugh at ourselves. I smiled, settling into the grass. No more taking me or life so seriously.

“As small and as insignificant as I am, I’m a part of you. And it’s one big, beautiful thing that we make, this living and breathing and ever-flawed oneness.”

“It’ll be okay, whatever comes. I wish someone had told me that. But I guess sometimes we learn the hard way. Know that there will be broken hearts and sad things that happen and times when you think you’re not worthy of the air you’re breathing. But hold on to the good stuff and know it’ll be okay. Your place is out there in the world, and you’ll eventually find it.”