1976
Cindy's twelfth birthday.
I remember you decided quite quickly that you were going to be the coolest kid on the block. You were going to be not only the smartest but also the trendiest. You asked for things that you didn't really want for your birthday: the records everyone loved and seashell necklaces from Byron Bay. Of course, your loving family bought you these things despite being the most confused they'd ever been about you.
But I knew what you really wanted.
I grabbed your wrist while your parents were busy talking to my parents about whatever was happening in the world back then and took you into the garden. You had an amazing garden, Cindy, honestly, I wish you'd taken more photos of it. It was like something out of a fairytale: you had vines creeping up the side of the shed and pretty white flowers floated down from the trees onto the chicken coop.
"Close your eyes," I told you, and placed your hands over your face for good measure: I knew I could never trust you and your curiosity.
I led you around the back of the garden shed, where we both knew were spiders. I flicked a small, black one from your knuckle.
"What was that?" You asked, alarmed.
"Was just a little spider," I justified. "Don't worry, I didn't kill it. I put it on the ground."
"Oh, that's good." You breathed out. "Can I open my eyes now?"
"No."
My hands left your shoulders to uncover the sheet from your birthday present. "Okay," I said. "Open."
Your hands flew from your face to reveal all the freckles hidden behind them. You said not a word, just knelt down to look closer at my present. You read the model number, and you read the measurements on the lenses.
"Do you like it?" I asked. I started to hold my breath. Maybe you were right in asking your parents for A Night At The Opera.
"A telescope." You said, like you'd just learned that word and were trying to test it out. I lifted up another piece of the sheet, picking up a book and a record for you. You read the titles aloud. "The Universe From Nothing." That was the book. "Tales from Topographic Oceans." That was the record.
"Do you like it?" I asked again, but quieter. I doubted you would even hear me.
"Are you kidding?" You said incredulously, like I'd just said something like, 'the Earth is flat'.
"Is that a good or bad reaction?"
"I love it." You hugged me, only for a second, before you went back to inspecting the record. "I love them all so much, I really do. How did you know this is what I wanted? All I asked for was The Easybeats."
"The Beach Boys." I corrected.
You shrugged. "Same thing."
"Not really."
You giggled. "Maybe, I don't know. Thank you, Leigh, you're the best."
I believed you, and maybe that was my first mistake.
That night you used your telescope while your parents told your brother a bedtime story, so in a way, you were telling yourself your own story. Before you learned the names of those stars, you would make them up. I sat on your bed, sleeping over especially for your birthday, and watched you scribble in the notes section of The Universe From Nothing.
"What're you writing?" I asked you.
You straightened your back, since you were kneeling in front of your window, and turned your notebook to show me. I couldn't see for how far away you were but I said, "That looks really cool," anyway.
"Yeah," You smiled proudly. Then, you pointed out the window. "Come look at these stars with me, I'll tell you their names."
I slid off the bed, crawled across the carpet and kneeled next to you. "What's that one?" I pointed in general to the sky.
"I don't know," you laughed, and pointed to a different one. "That one's called Bright One. 'Cos it's the brightest one."
Ingenious. "Aren't the brightest ones the planets?"
Realization dawned on your face, in some adorable fashion. "Oh."
After some recalculation and some more scribbling, you came up with a different star.
"What's that one?"
"That's the Sword. It glints like a sword."
We went on like that.
"What's that?"
"That's a planet."
"What about that?"
I wanted to point to you, just to see what you'd say. I could imagine it—"What's that one?" "Brightest one."
You fell asleep on the carpet about halfway through your notes. I asked your mum for a blanket and stole one of the pillows your brother had kicked off his bed in his sleep. I lifted up your head and straightened out your body so you wouldn't get cramps in the morning, and wrapped you in the black blanket. With the moonlight streaming in glittery spots from your closed fly screen window, it looked like you were wrapped in a galaxy.
And I laughed. Nothing could have described you better.
