Jane & The Shooting Star

Patrick & Jane have known each other forever, growing up in a town as small as there own, they grew close together from a small age. Patrick, desperately in love with his best friend, wishes upon a shooting star one night four years prior, and is still dealing with the aftermath. Under the impression that Jane could never love him back, he tries to battle with his erratic mother, failed attempts at jealousy, and the true meaning of what fate is all about.

Short story, rated Yellow for strong language.
© Copyright ‘Jane & The Shooting Star’ by GeorgiaLM 2013


9. 8

Epilogue Patrick: We sit on a beach in a new country, a new time, a different life. The details don’t really matter. The sand is soft and grainy under our toes, our arms are locked around each other in an embrace that would be difficult to break. We don’t kiss, or speak. Words have no purpose on this night, between the two of us. Emily Dickinson once wrote “Saying nothing, sometimes says the most.” So we just listen to the waves and our breathing mingles together until there is nothing but noise, so loud that I can’t hear my thoughts. In front of our feet sit our little ones, Benjamin and Grace, huddled together for warmth, but still fighting for spaces of their own. They’re tired and both Jane and I know that we should take them home for bed, but we can’t leave just yet. “What are you gonna wish for Gracie?” Jane whispers to our seven year old. I look between the two of them, mystified by the sight before me. This is how I get sometimes, on these cold nights huddled on beaches, or on our small couch back at home, looking at my little family. I get overwhelmed by the sight of my children, and the wife I thought I could never have. I get emotional about how wonderful my life has become, and how grateful I should be, and how a lot of the time I don’t appreciate what I have here right in front of me. “I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.” Grace says, smiling a wide, tooth gapped smile. Her hair looks pale under the moonlight, but it’s really a much fairer version of my own blond hair. Ben has the dark brown locks from his mother. “What are you wishing for then Benny?” Jane asks. Ben is four, fiery tempered, and too much like his mom. He has my eyes though, big and brown, and I guess sad sometimes, like Jane says about me. “An ice cream.” he says through a big yawn, his small mouth stretching out. It’s a sign that we should be tucking him into bed, but the star hasn’t fallen yet, so we’ll wait. We huddle so close together and wait, my anticipation is growing and the only constant that keeps me steady is Jane’s arm tucked around my waist, her head resting comfortably on my shoulder. When the star shoots through the sky overhead, the pale light standing out against the harsh blackness, I wish for nothing, because I have my everything, and it is bundled all around me, and it is beautiful. The End.
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