A Welcome to the Perseids

It’s been a year since we raided Old Man Wynn’s pear tree. To the discerning eye, it appeared to be a Herculean task and not worth the bother, what with a grocery store nearby.

Not deterred and fueled by three light beers, a sense of whimsy and an urge for mischief, I used the Socratic method to get through the barbed wire fence.

It’s certainly true that you appear to be a barbed wire fence. But...would a barbed wire fence so easily let me pass? Okay, now you’ve ripped my shorts so I will concede your barbed wire fenceyness.

While I wrangled with Greek philosophy I’ve never understood, ridiculous newly invented words and a shorts-mutilating fence, my partner in crime zipped through my nemesis like a reincarnation of the Greek goddess Nike. She waved her purple and teal pashmina scarf in the air as she raced toward the tree. Her hair streamed behind her like a flowing lemon chiffon river as she circled the tree in a wildling dance.

Weighted down by fruit and sprinkled with moonlight and stardust, it seemed an act of mercy to relieve the tree of its tasty burden, but the magic of the night seemed to decree a limit. We each took a pear and solemnly thanked the tree.

We began the short journey back home, but our excessive giggling alerted Frankie, Old Man Wynn’s border collie that shenanigans were afoot. Barking, he rushed toward the source of the noise. Like a proper herder he attempted to move us back to the farm house where a light had appeared in a window. This caused us to collapse on the ground while giggling louder. Frankie broke herder protocol by licking our faces. We switched tactics and began to shush him. He licked harder with intermittent barks. We giggled some more and scrambled to our feet. I gave the furry black and white sweetheart a final pat on the head and she gave him a kiss on his nose.

Without further incident we arrived home and plopped down on my grandmother’s patchwork quilt. Earlier I’d placed it on the ground in the perfect spot for stargazing. Turning our eyes skyward, we contentedly munched on the illicit pears. We both knew that to make up for our crime I’d buy a bushel of the delicious fruit from our grumpy neighbor and turn it into preserves.

For the next few perfect hours we pointed out shooting stars to each other, oohing and aahing like small town rubes at a carnival. We talked of things inconsequential. Favorite bands, television shows and movies. We talked of things monumental. Books. Nature. Science. World affairs. The myth or certainty of true love.

The times she watched the light show in silence afforded me the opportunity to marvel at the young woman I’d created.

***

I return from the past and look up. A ghostly cloud frames a blank face with flashpoint eyes. I think of her while watching it drift across the endless dark. Behind me a deer snorts a warning to leave which I ignore in favor of trying to determine the color of the universe.

Frankie has come to visit, softly whining. He does that a lot these lonely evenings. A tear rolls down my cheek and lands on his nose. Her three cats sit at my feet and perhaps wonder what my presence at such a late hour means to them. My admiration for their self-centeredness is a distraction from the answer to a question which seems impossible to divine.

A yearly ritual once shared with a young woman abruptly gone. A welcome to the Perseids. A slim connection to one who, like the meteors, streaked through my life and blinked out too soon. There's a seething beauty in these trails of fire. It's as if they know of Ginger and realize their own insignificance compared to her smile.