We met at the edge of time and space. There were, surprisingly, many clouds covering the pale blue skies. The tall mountains surrounding us created our rink, and we ice skated on the thin surface of the ocean, looking for the puck. In each direction we turned, the mountains opened their way for us and consumed what was behind us in infinity. “Do you ever worry that your search is useless?” I was nudging your legs with a hockey stick, while you were distracted by your search for the puck. It had been a long time since we’d lost it and you refused to let the hockey game go.
“Not as such, no.”
“How do you know? What if something happened to it? What if a creature had eaten it?”
“It has to be somewhere here. I kicked it this way.”
“Surely there are many other things to concern ourselves with though, right? I would love to go back and just have lunch.” You did not respond. There was no use arguing with you. I slalomed and snowplowed after you, in the boredom of our silence. I competed with the fish swimming under my feet, to amuse myself. Your movement was uncomplicated and direct, and if I weren’t aware of your nature, I would assume you had been trying to escape me. We just kept moving in silence, as the Sun began to set, illuminating its tangerine flame on the ice. We were confined in crimson, and mulberries traveled the sky, cleaning it of its grey clouds before the night enveloped us in its darkness.
“It might be a good time to call it a day, don’t you think?”
“There is still enough light to search.” You glanced back at me and protested. “Just, tell me about something while we do. You could, for example, tell me about…” We slowed down and you searched with your eyes around us. We were enclosed by mountains with snowcaps and tall trees, and the deep ocean lay still below our feet. It would take a long time before we could find a new scenery. You lifted your gaze to the skies. “How do the stars come into existence?”
“I’ve told you many times.”
“I know. I want to hear it again.” You smiled at me, and we began moving forward.
“Clouds of dust and gas are scattered in space. You know nebulae? I’ve shown you photos before.”
“Yes. The ones hung above your bed.”
“My sister drew big stars on them with yellow glitter Sharpies, actually.”
“That’s a shame, I loved those photos.” You looked back at me with a smile on your face. “And your sister. Knowing how long you hold grudges, I won’t see her for a while.”
I lightly slapped your arm. “I don’t hold grudges. At least, undeserved ones.”
“She’s so small. Surely you can look past this mistake. Apply different rules – ”
“Anyways, when a region of nebula collapses under its very own gravitational force, it creates a protostar.” I continued my explanation, wondering at the sky above me. “This protostar heats up and releases a crazy amount of energy, generating heat and light. And that is what we see as stars in the sky, yes. What happens later is a different story. But you prefer exoplanets.”
“Yes, I prefer exoplanets.” You blushed a little. “And the stars above us?”
“What about them?”
“They are already dead, aren’t they?”
"I think we, as humans, are fascinated with the idea that one of the most wonderful things in the world we see is already gone. It has an effect, for sure, like how deceiving beauty can be, or we could say that the universe is so enormous that things die before they reach our eyes. The idea is fascinating, for sure.”
“But is it true?” You turned around and started skating backward in front of me. It was starting to get cold, so your nose and cheeks were tinted red, and your eyes looked tired. You distracted me from how freezing the air felt on my own face.
“When we look at the sky, depending on how far a star is, because of the speed of light, we see what they looked like at a certain point in time in the past. Take, for example, Proxima Centauri. The star is visible in the sky and has not reached the end of its life cycle. What we do see, in the sky, is what the star looked like four years ago, in the past. Not that there is much difference to see on the star itself. But yes, some of the ones we see now may have ceased to exist. I agree that it is sad.”
“Sad and fascinating.” A streak of green and purple crept up onto the blanket of the sky. You turned to face forward, and instead of searching for the puck, your attention was now on the colors that climbed onto the view above. The colors illuminated your skin in a beautiful harmony. It was serene, just like any moment I’d spent with you.
“Why is hockey so important to you? What is it especially about that puck?” I wished to stop this search at once.
“It was the most fun I’ve ever had. It is significant.”
“So much so, that you would search for it forever?”
“Definitely. Desperately.”
We were both quiet, as we continued to go. My body was tired, and the repetitive movement hurt my legs. You were persistent in going forward, and I did not have the heart to argue with you. We reached a tent, with a fishing hole and equipment. You peeked in through the opening of the tent, and it was empty, for a mattress with a slim blanket and a pillow.
“This was ours! Remember this?” You exclaimed. You reached for the blanket and revealed a small bag underneath. It had some books, pens, and stale old cookies in it.
“A faint memory, but yes.”
“Faint memory? This was one of our best adventures together. Here, look.” You opened a book and flipped to a specific page, with a portrait drawing of you. It looked like my work and was definitely drawn with my favorite ballpoint pen. “I’ve been looking for this.”
“I don’t remember making this.” I smiled at you. “Can you tell me about what we did?”
“Our fishing trip together. A very unsuccessful one at that.”
“Yes, I do know very little about fishing. One of my weaknesses.”
“It’s alright. I love you regardless.” You lightly pushed my shoulder. “I tried to teach you, remember? We spent an hour or two trying to catch one, and we did. But only one, because a storm caught on and we were better off in the tent. We cozied up inside, and you told me stories from when you were a kid. You drew my portrait while I read. We argued over the fish and you made me go back outside to let it back in the water.”
I smiled at the story, but all of it seemed so long ago. “Sounds quite like me. Shame I don’t draw anymore though.” I examined the portrait drawing of you.
“Not too bad. Just means that this piece is worth a lot more now.” You ripped out the page and put it away in your pocket. Aurora Borealis was hard at work, and I was looking at it in your eyes.
“I can get you a new puck. Can we move on from this, please?” I leaned forward and pouted at you.
“But I want that puck. Is it not that important to you?” You stepped back.
“I think so. Sorry, I mean, yes it is.” I took your hand in mine. “But I’m tired.”
“So am I. The puck is irreplaceable. The other one won’t be the same.”
“That’s true.” I examined your hands. They were cold and your knuckles were tinted red and dry. I warmed them for a moment with my hands. We left the hockey sticks in the tent in hopes that we would return later, then left to continue our search. “Can you tell me about fishing, then?” I asked.
“In all honesty, I don’t know much myself. But I enjoyed figuring it out with you. I had a guidebook for it and everything.”
“I see.” I huffed. We were reaching a river that ran from the sea and continued our path on it. You did not acknowledge the change of scenery, but I appreciated the trees that engulfed us on both sides. Behind them were no mountains anymore. The sky began to transform once again above us. It was doing its daily routine. Now, it was covered in a shower of shooting stars. Their movement was mesmerizing and put me under their spell. I yawned. You were not looking up. I began to forget what we were looking for and just followed.
“Remember when we visited that city just south of here?” I asked you. “Haven’t seen so much rain in one day ever since.”
“Oh yes. It was a very foggy morning. We walked the path in the woods too. Whose idea was it again?”
“I don’t quite remember how we got there. The busy roads made me kind of dizzy, I did not enjoy it.”
“We sat on an empty bus together. You held my hand. I thought it was nice.” You said. “Someone fell in a puddle too. I remember bruised knees. Was that you or me?”
“Oh right. That was me.”
“Huh. I remember it hurt for a week. Forgot if it was you or me.” You turned around again, skating backward. “I washed them and changed the bandages every day. I bought ice packs and ibuprofen, too.”
“You did a good job.” I smiled at you.
“I guess that’s just how it is sometimes. I forget where I end and you begin.”
“I guess so.” The sky was clear of stars now. It was all dark except for the Moon itself, which shone bright and white, reflecting on the ice below. Soon, we were in a dark valley. A satellite constellation crawled up in the sky and moved swiftly above us. “These always make me so uneasy.” I admitted.
“I think they are interesting. The sky is like a show, and this is just a new scene for us to see.”
“A man-made one at that.”
“True. It is still beautiful.”
“I prefer the stars.”
“I know you do.” You said. “But isn’t it wonderful? How far humanity can go if we really try our best?”
“It corrupts the sky.”
“If I were up there, I wouldn’t corrupt the sky. I would probably take you with me. We could see more of the stars. Build forts of nebulae and ice skate on the frozen pool of the Milky Way. Satellites could be our hockey sticks, and maybe then we would find that puck. What if it’s hiding behind an exoplanet?”
“The hockey puck. Right.”
“Did you forget?”
I felt guilty. “Yes, I did. Sorry.”
“Remember the day we spent in the library?”
“We spend a lot of time in the library. Which day are you talking about?”
“You know the one. We went there very early morning to study and were inside until lunch. We had sandwiches and coffee, and it was a very sunny day after a rainstorm, and we saw a rainbow. We made a fort out of desks and had our own study nook, the librarians did not even notice. I collected books for you, and you were very skeptical about all of the philosophers that I presented to you.”
My pace slowed. My knees hurt and I had to stop skating so fast. You took notice and slowed down to be next to me. You were biting your lips, averting my eye contact, and fidgeting with your hands. I forgot what your nervous face looked like, but you reminded me of it again.
“You told me about your childhood. Your family, your old friends. How some of them have treated you wrong. It made me mad. I hugged you very tight. I showed you a poem that I wrote.”
We were reaching a narrow creek. The ice was thin and broken in places, and the water was running into a stream. I slowed to a stop and began inspecting our surroundings. We were far from where we began, and the sound of the splashing water was loud. Everything was dark except for the stark white Moon, and its reflection on your face. Your eyes looked larger than before and reminded me of a Sunday morning I’d since forgotten.
“And we left late in the evening after reading a book about the ocean. On the way back, we were holding hands and talking about how we wanted to go to the beach. You came to my house and stayed over.”
“I really think we should turn around. Can’t you see how dark it’s gotten?”
“I read you another poem. I wrote it about you, but at the time, I didn’t want to admit it. You said you liked it. You kissed me before we went to sleep.”
“What?”
“Did you really forget? We woke up in the morning, and I jokingly pushed you off my bed. I made you scrambled eggs for breakfast.”
“I don’t want to find that puck.” I admitted.
“But you liked playing hockey with me.” You pleaded and held my hand.
“That was a long time ago. I don’t think I am how you remember me.” It hurt for me to say this. It hurt to see the pain reflected in your eyes. Your bubbly expression turned upside down.
“Why did you follow me, then?”
“I’m so sorry. I wish I could tell you why.”
“I still have so much to say to you. I think you should go before I begin talking.” You let go of my hand.
“I know. I will.”
“I hate this. I hate that you agree with me.” You said, and we stood for a second in silence, letting it consume us. You took your skates off and stared into the fast-flowing stream with its rocks and its waterfall ahead.
“You really are just like the stars. I can see you but you're long gone.”
You paused again. ”Do you think the puck is out there?”
“I do. But you’ll never find it if I follow you.”
“True. Wish me luck.”
And you continued ahead.
Comments