Chapter 53
At night, in my new car, I’d drive to the top of Bishop’s Hill.
From the viewpoint up there I could look out over the glow of the whole town below.
On those nights I’d wind down my window and breathe in the cool summer air.
I’d get out and lie on the bonnet, like they do in those American teen movies, and gaze up at the stars.
I’d stare for hours and wonder at the notion of constellations; mythical gods existing in the sky, traced out by imaginary lines, looking down upon us mere mortals.
But knowing that those gods and their tracings were only there because some old Greek men had thought them up hundreds of years ago took the magic away.
Men who couldn’t help but look at the mess above and immediately try to make sense of it, make meaning, because it’s hard to sit beneath all that mystery up there and feel so small down here.
Lying on the bonnet looking up, stars scattered everywhere, I saw no patterns, no designs, no sense. I closed my eyes to shut them out.
My own little night sky inside.
One by one, I painted a constellation across the darkness of my eyelids.
Each individual star was a moment in my life, a moment with Ronan, that meant something.
By the time I’d finished it was almost blinding.
It was so bright that when I opened my eyes the world seemed so dark.
So bright that the whole starry sky above didn’t compare.
I sat up and looked down at the orange glow of the town. Soon I would have to return, a journey I dreaded, but that night was different. I drove back down knowing that any time I needed some kind of meaning in the mess of it all, I could close my eyes, see that constellation and be blinded by it.