Minnesota Goodbyes

Entry #24

(Really, the night can't be half so beautiful as you and Clair racing down moonlit streets. Life is beauty.)

Blinking back the stream of tears, you slow to a halt. As soon as you've pulled off the road, Clair hops off and peels away the helmet, shaking out her yellow hair. It's silvery in the starlight and you stare transfixed before she throws her arms around you. (The helmet thumps your back hard, rattling your ribs. There'll be a bruise the next morning.)

"That was amazing!" Clair peels away from you, eyes shining and cheeks flushed.

You grin. "Yeah. This night is perfect."

She throws her head back, basking in starglow. You follow her gaze up to the sky— you were right. Perfection.

"So, where to now?"

Your brows furrow. "What?"

"Where are we going?"

"I hadn't planned anything. I just wanted to go for a ride." (The night and Clair and silvery stars. There was nothing that needed planning.)

Clair considers, biting a nail. You can spot the moment inspiration strikes: eyes blaze, dancing freckles, pixie smile. Pulling out her phone, she says, "I've got an idea. I'll give you directions, okay?"

The road sprawls before you, paved in those forevers.

"Okay."

Again, the bike. The wind and stars and drumming heartbeats.

"There." Clair points to a stand of trees, and a sign leading to a gravel road. You slow, skimming over the path and cutting the engine in front of a small lodge.

"A state park?"

"Cheap camping, my friend. I got pissed at my mom one summer and stayed at one for a week before I finally went home." She hops off the bike, landing with a crunch of gravel. "I'll go get us a campsite. It'll only take a minute."

It takes more than a minute, but Clair returns with a map and a sticker to put on Baby Blue. "Onward!"

The campsite is down a loop and small fires from other campers dot the way.

"There." Clair points and you stutter to a halt. Beneath the swaying shadows, another wooden sign directs the way to your site. The crunch of gravel, Clair's heartbeat, deep breaths of midnight air.

It's perfect.

(It still isn't midnight, but so long as you don't check the time, who can say any different?)

The night spreads out before you. And it's not just the stars. The trees whisper to one another (like you and Clair) and the crickets laugh in the darkness (also like you and Clair.)

It gets you thinking.

Have you ever had a night like this? Will you ever again?

(Nights dripping in stars and mystery. Nights started by taking off on motorcycles like rockets. Nights in the fall, in the cozy darkness, nights with Clair.)

It's a string of thoughts and questions.

Because the night is laid out before you like a feast, and you savor everything it brings. (And, as always, questions. It's not that you go out of your way to think of them, they just show up, solidifying in your mind one after another.)

(Like the weather. Have you ever actually thought about it? Not the way you talk about it with your dentist or the person cutting your hair, but really thought about it?)

That night you do. The day's heat has dissipated (though it's much warmer now that you're not flying down the highway), and as the sky deepens, there is a slight shift. It's not something you can pinpoint, just the sense that something is fundamentally different. Ever so slightly different. You notice it more as the night wears on; the sky thickens with stars. The breeze nips a little harder.