Stars Aligned

She was on her back, looking at the stars. She looked big. Not fat or overweight, but full; Full of life. She was vibrant, even lying still, her eyes wandering the sky. The moon was full and bright but the starlight was beaming. The grass on their backs was dewy, warm. It was a summer night and the breeze warded off the bugs. He laid beside her. The night was divine.

“Look at those stars,” he pointed. There was a bright cluster of lights, stacked on one another like so many lightning bugs.

“Yeah.”

“They are aligned so perfectly. Like they are on top of one another.”

“Yes.”

“They are aligned for us.”

She was not looking at the stars, but staring well off into space and into nothingness. “But they are light years away,” she corrected.

“I just want you to know, I will be there every step of the way.”

He watched her blink long and hard, the calmness in her face flee. He saw the panic set in, and the anxiety envelope her in the moonlight. “I know that...”

“But…”

“But I'm going through with it anyway.”

He said nothing. His eyes went back to the sky. When she first told him, he was so joyous it scared her. She thought the panic would spread to him, but it only metastasized within herself. The thought of it became too much for her.

She never told her parents. She knew how they’d react. And besides, she felt she didn’t need to. She could do it without them.

“It’s safe,” she said.

“When are you going?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Tomorrow. Maybe the next day.”

He rolled over and put his hands on his head. “You don't have to. You know I have a good job. I can provide for us, I can take care of us.”

She huffed.

“What? You don't think I can?”

“I know you can, but why can't I do what I want to do?”

“You can! But you know how I feel about it. You know I think it’s wrong.”

‘It’s legal.”

“It’s infantcide!”

She hovered over him. “It’s an abortion.”

“A euphemism. A fancy way of hiding what it truly is: killing a child.”

She wanted to storm away and walk down the hill, but vertigo kept her there. The parking lot was a few yards away, her car parked closer than his.

A shooting star lit up the sky. Neither saw it.

“I'm- I'm sorry. It’s your decision. If you want to do it, that's fine. I support you.”

Tears came to her eyes. “I just- I never got to go to Rome.”

“What?”

“The Forum, the Colosseum, Pompey. I never got to see any of it. And I'm afraid-”

“You’re afraid you’ll never go to Rome?”

“I'm afraid I’ll never get to live my life.”

He looked at her, incredulous. “Live your life?”

She rose to her knees. “Yes, live my life. Do the things that I wanted to do. Can't you respect that?”

“Respect…” was all he could get out. “Where is your compassion?”

Her eyes raged. “Compassion?”

“Yeah, you’re so concerned about yourself- what about the baby? What about me?”

“It’s not alive! I'm only a few weeks-”

He didn’t answer. He looked at the parking lot, empty save their two cars parked separately across the lot. Hers was closer, but seemed so far away.

“I just want to live my life, why can't I do that?”

“Don't you realize? This is living! This is compassion! Caring for others, doing what they’d want, not going through the motions. This is life! What is Rome but a place of ruins, of old things that aren’t the same as they once were. This is life. A new life that can begin now; you and me and him.

Her eyes rested on the stars. She said nothing.

“I know I can be a good father,” he said. She squirmed at the word. Then she looked at him deeply. He was gone. To her, he was hollow. A bodiless void. An empty suit. She forced a half-hearted smile.

They sat for a lingering moment, her eyes on the stars. “Hey,” she said, “the stars are aligned.”

“What stars?” He said.