Author's Chapter Notes:
Sort of based on the song Brooklyn Stars by Matt Pond PA which is also the source of the title/chapter title.
The light over the bathroom mirror flickers, flickers, dims a little, comes back brighter, flickers some more, and then goes dim for good. I brush my teeth almost silently, my eyes trained on the reflection, not of myself, but of the bedroom through the half open door. The reflection of her body stretched diagonally across my warm absence, her face pushed into a pillow. The light from the bathroom falls across the darkness of the bedroom in a thick line that just barely misses the corner of the bed. And the bathroom seems too bright, the white tiles blinding even with the dimmed light bulb.
I spit in the sink, replace my toothbrush in the cup where it rolls along the rim until knocking into hers and settling there. I turn off the light and go back out into the bedroom, my bare feet padding slowly, careful not to agitate the creaky, old floorboards. I stand in the blue-black predawn, listen to the sounds of early morning, stray cars and birds waking up hungry. I contemplate my next move, how to best get dressed quietly, how not to wake her, how to leave her here again to go back to a place that feels less like home with each passing week.
The three windows to the right of the bed let in a flood soft blue light, the sun coming up slowly behind clouds. I don’t think about anything as I watch it fall on her skin. The light turns her into a nearly realized figure, only her edges are still blurry. She looks soft and out of focus. The floor groans as I unconsciously take a step toward her. The sound startles me and I stop moving altogether, watching her to be sure she stays asleep.
She shifts beneath the sheets, turns onto her other side, lets out a quiet moan before settling back into sleep. With her face pointed in my direction, I feel the need to turn around to get dressed. As though, even asleep, I can’t bare to feel as though she’s watching me leave her.
The early light still fails at making dressing easy. I fumble with the buttons on my shirt, stumble while stepping into my dress pants. If she were awake, she’d be laughing with her head thrown back. Then she’d raise that eyebrow of hers and say, “Need a little help?” If she were awake, I’d never get dressed at all and I’d never make it to my nine o’clock sales call.
The noise I make doesn’t seem to stir her though and I sit in the chair by the window to put my shoes on. I look out, down into the alleyway between this building and the next one. I look out at the empty sidewalk. I look out and nothing is familiar. But then I hear the rustle of the sheets behind me and something strange tightens in my chest. The feeling of impending homesickness. I don’t want to leave.
When I turn back, my shoes tied and shirt tucked in and my bag waiting by the side of the bed, her eyes are still closed. Her eyes are closed but I can hear the change in her breathing. She’s awake but trying to pretend she isn’t.
I play along for both our sakes, knowing how much she hates saying goodbye and how easily I’ll give into her eyes silently pleading and her small hand reaching for mine. I walk slowly to the side of the bed. I can see her eyes fluttering beneath their lids. My body blocks the light from the window and my shadow falls across her. I lean over and gently push a mess of curls out of her face before pressing my lips to her cheekbone, her temple, her nose. All quiet, nearly imperceptible kisses.
I pick up my bag, standing up straight again. I can see her eyelids straining to keep closed and I pause for a moment to see if she’ll open her eyes, invite me back to bed, tell me nothing else matters in the world besides this. She doesn’t give in though.
When I’m at the bedroom door, I hear her take in a breath and then keep it there. I stand in the doorway waiting to hear her let it out again, but she doesn’t. I close my eyes briefly, tilting my head back until it bumps into the doorjamb. I finally turn and make my way to the front door.
In the hallway, I turn the lock with my spare key. My fingers rest loosely on the knob and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
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