The Sun Is Also a Star

Daniel puts away his notebook and pulls me back from the edge. He puts his hands on my waist.

“What do you even write in there?” I ask.

“Plans,” he says. His eyes are merry and staring at my lips and I’m having trouble thinking. I take a little step back but he follows, like we’re dancing.

“I—Jesus. Have you been this sexy the whole day?” I ask.

He laughs and blushes. “I’m glad you think I’m sexy.” His eyes are still on my lips.

“Is it gonna hurt if I kiss you?” I ask him.

“It’ll be a good pain.” He puts his other hand on my waist like he’s anchoring us. My heart just will not settle down. Kissing him can’t be as good as I remember. When we had our first kiss, I thought I was kissing him for the last time. I’m sure that made it more intense. This kiss will be more normal. No fireworks and chaos, just two people who like each other a lot, kissing.

I get on my tiptoes and move in even closer. Finally his eyes meet mine. He moves his hand from my waist and places it over my heart. It beats under his palm like it’s beating for him.

Our lips touch, and I try to keep my eyes open for as long as possible. I try not to succumb to the crazy entropy of this thing between us. I don’t understand it. Why this person? Why Daniel and not any of the boys before? What if we hadn’t met? Would I have had a perfectly ordinary day and not know that I was missing something?

I wrap my arms around his neck and lean into him, but I can’t get close enough. The restless, chaotic feeling is back. I want things that I can name, and some things that I can’t. I want this one moment to last forever, but I don’t want to miss all the other moments to come. I want our entire future together, but I want it here and now.

I’m slightly overwhelmed and break the kiss. “Go. Over. There,” I say, and punctuate each word with a kiss. I point to a spot far away from me, out of kissing range.

“Here?” he asks taking a single step back.

“At least five more.”

He grins at me, but complies.

“All our kisses aren’t going to be like that, are they?” I ask him.

“Like what?”

“You know. Insane.”

“I love how direct you are,” he says.

“Really? My mom says I go too far.”

“Maybe. I still love it, though.”

I lower my eyes and don’t respond. “How much time until your interview?” I ask.

“Forty minutes.”

“Got any more of those love questions for me?”

“You’re not in love with me yet?” His voice is filled with mock incredulity.

“Nope,” I say, and smile at him.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “We’ve got time.”

IT FEELS LIKE A MIRACLE that we get to sit here on this rooftop, like we’re part of a secret sky city. The sun is slowly retreating across the buildings, but it’s not dark yet. It will be soon, but for now there’s only an idea of darkness.

Natasha and I are sitting cross-legged against the wall next to the stairwell door. We’re holding hands, and she’s resting her head on my shoulder. Her hair is soft against the side of my face.

“Are you ready for the dinner guest question yet?” I ask.

“You mean who I’d invite?”

“Yup.”

“Ugh, no. You go first,” she says.

“Easy,” I say. “God.”

She raises her head from my shoulder to look at me. “You really believe in God?”

“I do.”

“One guy? In the sky? With superpowers?” Her disbelief isn’t mocking, just investigative.

“Not exactly like that,” I say.

“What, then?”

I squeeze her hand. “You know the way we feel right now? This connection between us that we don’t understand and we don’t want to let go of? That’s God.”

“Holy hell,” she exclaims. “You poet boys are dangerous.”

She pulls my hand into her lap and holds it with both of hers.

I tilt my head back and watch the sky, trying to pick shapes out of the clouds. “Here’s what I think,” I say. “I think we’re all connected, everyone on earth.”

She runs her fingertips over my knuckles. “Even the bad people?”

“Yes. But everyone has at least a little good in them.”

“Not true,” she says.

“Okay,” I concede. “But everyone has done at least one good thing in their lifetime. Do you agree with that?”

She thinks it over and then slowly nods.

I go on. “I think all the good parts of us are connected on some level. The part that shares the last double chocolate chip cookie or donates to charity or gives a dollar to a street musician or becomes a candy striper or cries at Apple commercials or says I love you or I forgive you. I think that’s God. God is the connection of the very best parts of us.”

“And you think that connection has a consciousness?” she asks.

“Yeah, and we call it God.”

She laughs a quiet laugh. “Are you always so—”

“Erudite?” I ask, interrupting.

She laughs louder now. “I was gonna say cheesy.”

“Yes. I’m known far and wide for my cheesiness.”

“I’m kidding,” she says, bumping her shoulder into mine. “I really like that you’ve thought about it.”