"The Comfort in Being Sad"
by Michael Dell

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (Michael)

The stars were alive, sparkling and dazzling in the heavens above his lifeless body. He lay there upon the cold grassy earth and fought for reasons to deny their influence. He could hear the laughter and strummed guitars from the campfire. But he was alone. He was purposely alone in the cancerous black night, removed far from them. Removed from her. He looked at the stars.

Someone was coming. It was too dark to see. But he knew it was her. He let her get closer before speaking.

"Hey."

"Hey" was her echoed response. "Where are you?"

He didn't get up to greet her. "I'm down here."

"Why'd you leave?"

She crossed above him and stood shyly a few feet away on his right side. She remained standing. While it was still too dark to make out any features, he looked up at her to see her basic outline silhouetted against the star-riddled sky above the tree line. She had her arms crossed in front of her. She was cold.

"I'm not much for community sings."

"We were all worried about you."

"There's no need to worry."

"You just kind of disappeared. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Honest."

It was so awkward with her now. He wasn't sure how to act. She was just as uncertain. Her attention turned to the sky.

"The stars are so beautiful tonight."

Each wanted to speak to the other, but neither knew the words. Silence. It was easier that way. It's always easier that way.

A new voice spoke freely.

"Claire?"

"Over here. I found Mike."

"Malloy, where are you at?"

"Down here."

"Yeah, don't step on him."

Alex came to a careful halt. Michael stayed exactly where he was. He was lying peacefully in the grass, arms still folded behind head, looking up at the stars with Claire on his right and Alex on his left. Both of their silhouettes now topped the trees. They were together in the sky, he was alone in the dirt. Their black, featureless masses menaced above him and tempted his tongue. He didn't speak.

"There are a lot of stars tonight," chimed Alex, completely unaware of the strained triangle of which he was now so prominently involved. His words drew no immediate response. At least none that could be seen. The uniqueness of the moment, and Alex's complete ignorance of what the other two had shared, brought forth a wry smile of recognition from Michael. It was swallowed and lost in the darkness of the July night. But Michael felt it.

"Have you seen any shooting stars?" asked Claire calmly in an attempt to hide her nervousness.

"Five," answered Michael.

The response drew Claire's ear. She spun her head in Michael's direction. "Did you make a wish?"

Michael hesitated a moment. "The same one all five times."

She was zero at the bone. "I'm getting cold." She once again crossed above Michael and joined Alex at his left. "Let's go inside."

"Okay," said Alex, placing his arm around her shoulders. "Later, Malloy."

"Don't stay out too long," cautioned Claire, suddenly needing Alex's arm, any arm, around her.

"I won't," assured Michael.

He turned to watch them leave until they melted into black. He couldn't hear anyone else. The guitars and laughter had stopped. They must have all gone inside. He'd have to go in soon, too. But not just yet. He wanted to be alone. Alone with his thoughts and alone with the stars. He succeeded. He was alone, empty, cold, desperately alone. And the stars all cried her name.