Beautiful Sorrows (11 page)

STARS

The Universe had it in for Samson Gimble. It was rollicking along doing Great Big Universy Things, when suddenly It realized that Great Big Universy Things are fine for the most part, but It wanted something more, something exciting and wonderful. Black holes and nebulas are intricate, and the Universe was adept at putting them together, but they were old hat. What was something that the Universe had never done before?

Ah, yes. Murder.

There was nothing about Sam that you would find especially notable. He was a generally goodhearted man, dressing rather quietly and performing his civic duty. He bites his ice cream instead of licking it, has three dogs all named Oliver, and never yells at children. That’s Sam.

The Universe picked Sam at random, basically closing Its eyes and throwing a metaphysical dart into the world—
PING!
Farewell, Samson Gimble. The Universe chuckled and rubbed Its colossal hands together gleefully. Feeling unexpectedly perky, It began working on Its Rube Goldberg machine to bring about Sam’s tragic and delightful death. What fun!

Now it seems rather unfair that on one hand we have Sam, and on the other is the Infinite Universe itself. “What a terrible story!” you could say, and you would be quite right. But take heart, for this is a story full of wonder and fancy, and in such stories, magical things often happen.

However, occasionally there is a person on this earth who is shivering outside on their back porch, looking upward for pleasure or for answers. There is usually something about them, a sense of need that shines out of their eyes and flashes up into the sky, for example, or just a general glitter that catches the star’s attention. Stars like glitter. A star would have no problem plucking itself out of the sky and flitting down to Earth if it thinks that you are shiny enough to entertain it.

Sam was shiny enough to entertain the most curious star. He was positively pulsing with light, a country boy recently moved to the big city. He couldn’t even see the stars at night for the bright neon lights, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t cut through the smog sharply himself. He was beautiful.

A tiny star, fairly new, watched the glittering light of Sam bobble through the rainy night, and with a cry of joy wrenched itself out of the fabric of sky and spiraled down to meet its new plaything.

Sam sat on a warped park bench located in a tiny sliver of green in the middle of the city. It was the closest thing to the country that he could find in this filthy town, and even then it was a far cry from the hills back at home. He had tried cursing for a while, but it didn’t do any good, so now he did the next best thing.

He drank.

So, naturally, when the star came spiraling down out of the sky and landed on the grass, Sam didn’t give it much thought.

“Nice,” he said, and threw his bottle at it.

The star pulsed a little bit and then glided closer to Sam’s shoes. It peered at his shoelace.

“Bug off,” he said.

The star didn’t bug off. It chimed brightly and hopped onto Sam’s instep, inspecting the cheap leather.

“I hate stars.”

The star believed this wasn’t true.

“It
is
true! I really, really hate stars,” Sam insisted.

The star shimmied up the leg of Sam’s pants and nestled into his lap. It bobbed around for a bit and looked around in wonder.

“Quit trying to be cute. It’s not going to work,” Sam warned.

The star glowed furiously and began to purr. It was very pleased with its bright, shiny new plaything. Sam put his hand over it gently. It pressed into his palm and purred harder.

“Oh, all right. You win.”

The star smiled and twinkled happily. They were going to have lots and lots of fun together, it and its new toy.

The Universe watched this new development in consternation. It very much hoped this little star didn’t stay around for long. It was still hard at work on Its plans.

—

From then on, Sam never went anywhere without his star. He slid it into his shirt pocket and wandered out into the street, careful to keep an ear out to hear what it had to say.

It often had quite a bit to say. It chimed and whistled and shook stardust in its excitement to see everything that went on around it. It often peeped out of Sam’s pocket, a tiny glowing fragment of light, and Sam had to gently push it back inside.

“Sorry, buddy, you can’t just leap out here. Wait until we’re somewhere that you won’t be seen.”

The star would wait patiently in the bottom of the pocket until suddenly it was overcome by its curiosity again. It would twinkle and glow, taking in every new scene and keeping a wary eye on that devious devil, the Universe. The tiny star had grown quite attached to its Sam, and was loath to lose him.

“Hey, I told you to keep out of sight,” Sam whispered, and shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

The star slid obediently down into the pocket, but not before it shook its tiny fist at the sky. You’ve got something to contend with, Universe. Oh yes.

—

Today was the day that Sam was going to die.

The star simply wasn’t having it.

“Leave me alone,” Sam mumbled into his pillow early on Saturday. The star chimed insistently in his ear, leaving burning little pinpricks on the lobe where it jumped around.

“Leave.” Sam flipped over and pulled the pillow over his head, but the star managed to burrow under it and glow sternly. Sam swatted it away. The star bristled. Growling a little, it marched up to Sam’s nose, touched it with a quivering point and promptly scorched it.

“What the—?” Sam yelled and flung the covers back, clasping both hands to his nose. He glared at the star with watery eyes. “Why would you do something like that?” The star meandered calmly away, and Sam, cursing, pulled on his jeans and started after it.

“No, you are not walking away from me. We are going to discuss this behavior.” Sam stopped in the middle of his kitchen. “I’m arguing with a star. With a
star
.” He sank into the kitchen chair and rubbed his eyes. “I’m going crazy.”

The star hissed at him, and then nudged a bottle of vitamins his way. Sam looked at them, and then at the star. “What are you, my wife?” The star was unmoved. Sam sighed and palmed the vitamins. This was going to be a long day.

If only he knew.

Today the Universe had something fun and whimsical up Its sleeve. It was quite cheery about the death of Samson Gimble. It hummed a little as It went to work. It was this happy, off-key rumbling that set the star on edge.

During breakfast, Sam took out a sharp, lethal-looking knife to peel his Granny Smith apple in one long peel. “EEP!” squeaked the star, and flung itself across the room, smacking into Sam’s hand and forcing him to drop the knife. It clattered to the floor.

“What is
with
you today?” he said, and reached down to pick the knife back up. The star guarded it fiercely. Sam finally stepped away.

“All right, all right, I get it. No knife, okay?” He held his hands up in surrender, and the star drooped in relief. Sam turned on the stove.

“ACK!” yelped the star, and flurried over to the stove, bouncing around in agitation until Sam hurriedly turned the burner off.

“Okay!” Sam said through gritted teeth. “No knives. No stove. Nothing delicious or homemade for me this morning.”

Breakfast was that same Granny Smith apple, unpeeled. Sam munched it resentfully. The star preened.

—

About this time, on the other side of the world, the Universe was giggling. It was a lovely day in Japan, and the spring flowers were out. Particularly the Ayame, an exquisitely vibrant purple flower with long tongue-like petals that drape delicately from its stamen. The Universe had spent quite a long time on its creation, and it was quite proud. A young couple and their lovely baby (who, thanks to the Universe’s not-so-innocent meddling, happened to be allergic to the Ayame flower) were admiring a particularly beautiful cluster when the baby sneezed.

“Bless you!” his mother said immediately, and reached in her purse for a tissue. This sudden movement startled a resting Appias albino butterfly, which is a particularly ethereal-looking butterfly with large white wings. It is not native to Japan, and had most likely been introduced to the area by a typhoon or whatnot (another of the Universe’s delights), but here it was, and here it had planned to stay, resting by the Ayame flower. But, alas, that was not meant to be, and it fluttered its wings rather desperately. As we all learned in the third grade, a butterfly fluttering its wings in Japan can affect the weather system in the United States, and it really was a glorious lesson on how we are all intertwined on the great big beautiful planet that is Earth. What a warm and fuzzy demonstration indeed, except that warm fuzzies was not what the Universe had intended. It had just set into play the chain of events that would eventually kill Samson Gimble. The Universe grinned. So cliché, yet so delightful. It settled back to watch.

—

Back home, Sam was heading toward the door, much to the star’s dismay. It buzzed and glowered and teetered as threateningly as it knew how, but Sam was determined to go along with his day as usual. After a brief chase, he managed to slip the star into his pocket and start out the door. The clouds were dark and heavy, but he thought little of it, even when the wind started to pick up. The star shivered.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sam whispered to the star. His earlier anger had diminished, and now he was concerned for the star’s distress. “You want me to tell you a story? Would that cheer you up?”

The star huddled in misery, and Sam began talking, oblivious to the looks that he was receiving on the street. He told the star about his family, where he grew up, about the family dog whose name changed weekly. This most likely explains why he chose to name all of his dogs Oliver now, but this is neither the time nor the place to psychoanalyze our Samson Gimble. We will surely get to that later.

If there is anything left to analyze, that is.

The star ceased trembling and listened, engrossed in the story but mostly in the glittering light that Sam gave off while telling it. Sam paused long enough to grab a few things at the grocery store, but then continued on again as soon as he was outside.

A flash of lightning interrupted him.

“This is crazy weather,” he told the star. “Even for here.”

The star narrowed its eyes and poked out of the pocket. Rain started to pour.

“Aw, man,” Sam said, and picked up his pace.

The wind screamed and tore at the city. The star held onto Sam’s pocket tightly, but still felt like it would be carried away. It looked around wildly for signs of danger.

A few buildings in front of them, a large pile of bricks had been left in a rather haphazard fashion on top of the roof. The wind pushed against the unsteady pile until one of the top bricks, already teetering, simply cried out its fond farewells and leapt from the roof.

The star noticed this, and with a tiny shriek it hurled itself out of its warm pocket and under Sam’s feet. Sam’s size 13 boot landed on it with a crunch that made even the Universe wince.

Sam gasped and stopped. He quickly knelt down to pick up the crushed star, and the brick whizzed less than six inches away from his head. He didn’t notice.

Sam cradled the dimming star in his hands. The star blinked blearily at the shattered brick and his beautifully
unshattered
Sam, and let itself collapse. It basked in Sam’s light and purred brokenly.

Sam placed it carefully into his shirt pocket. “Let’s get you home, okay? I’ll even let you sleep on the pillow.” Deep in his heart, he knew there would be no more pillows for his little star, but he couldn’t bear to think of it. He hoisted his grocery bags, careful not to jar his friend. He stepped neatly over the broken brick and hurried home.

The Universe was confused. All of Its hard work and scheming, and murder wasn’t very fun at all. In fact, it was downright dismal. The Universe shifted uncomfortably when the faint glimmer in Sam’s pocket went out. It was such a little star; surely it couldn’t create much light. So why did everything seem so much darker than it did just moments before?