The Stars Go Waltzing Out in Blue and Red
You gaze upward into the sky, where the moon used to be.
"That's not good," you immediately regret saying. Of course it's not good. That was probably the understatement to end all understatements.
"What does that mean?" Nina asks.
"The sun's gone," you say.
"Just like that?" Nina asks.
"Just like that," you say. "No more sun, no more moon."
"We didn't even get a chance to say goodnight to it," Nina says and giggles and then stops. "Sorry."
"It's okay," you say, holding onto her hand.
"No, it's not," she says. "The world is going out, just like they said, isn't it? Maybe I was right, maybe we're just a dream and whoever is dreaming us is waking up."
"That's a nice thought," you say.
"Why?" Nina asks.
"Because then we have a chance of being remembered," you say. "Even if only as a dream."
"And the alternative," Nina says, "is that everything disappears and nobody is there to remember anything. That everything just becomes...nothing. No time, no space. Just a blank canvass."
She takes her hand away from yours and gets out of the van. She walks in front of the headlights and they illuminate her body, casting a shadow into the street ahead. She looks upward.
You get out and walk towards her.
"Do you know how to dance?" she asks you.
"A little," you say.
"I would like to dance before I go to sleep," she says. "Would you dance with me?"
"Yes," you say.
She takes one of your hands in hers and places another hand on your shoulder. There is no music, only the silence that pervades everything.
"Wait," you say. You walk back to the van. "I saw something in here." You ruffle through the glove compartment until you find the cassette. It says 'Sinatra' on it. You turn the van on and put the cassette in the player.
"Serenade In Blue" begins to play.
You return to Nina and take her hand again. And you dance the night away.
You sway back and forth as Frank Sinatra sings about whistling in the dark, until the song comes to an end and suddenly silence descends again.
You turn back to the van, for there should be another song on the tape, shouldn't there? But the van is gone. And behind the van, where the city should be, there is only emptiness.
You turn back to Nina, who has her eyes closed tightly. "Don't open them," you say. "Don't look."
You close your eyes as well and continue dancing with her.
"Will it hurt?" she asks.
"No," you say. "It'll be just like falling asleep."
She rests her head on your shoulder. "That's a good idea," she says. "I'll fall asleep right here."
As she rests her head down, you can feel her hot breath slow and then stop. She's asleep and then she's with the other dreamers.
You lower her body to the ground gently and then look around.
You are in a small patch of earth while around you is only nothing. You wonder if it let you have that one last dance.
Perhaps this is a dream, you think. Or a play. But now the play is over. The curtains draw down. The audience has gone home. The set is empty.
You look up to see nothing. You look down to see nothing. Nina's body has already vanished.
You wish you could have vanished alongside her. You wish you had more time. You wish a million wishes, but none of them come true. There are no more stars, so no more wishes.
You hope, wherever you are going, you will get to see the stars again, see them light up the sky. You miss them. You miss everything.
And then you don't miss anything.
es
"That's not good," you immediately regret saying. Of course it's not good. That was probably the understatement to end all understatements.
"What does that mean?" Nina asks.
"The sun's gone," you say.
"Just like that?" Nina asks.
"Just like that," you say. "No more sun, no more moon."
"We didn't even get a chance to say goodnight to it," Nina says and giggles and then stops. "Sorry."
"It's okay," you say, holding onto her hand.
"No, it's not," she says. "The world is going out, just like they said, isn't it? Maybe I was right, maybe we're just a dream and whoever is dreaming us is waking up."
"That's a nice thought," you say.
"Why?" Nina asks.
"Because then we have a chance of being remembered," you say. "Even if only as a dream."
"And the alternative," Nina says, "is that everything disappears and nobody is there to remember anything. That everything just becomes...nothing. No time, no space. Just a blank canvass."
She takes her hand away from yours and gets out of the van. She walks in front of the headlights and they illuminate her body, casting a shadow into the street ahead. She looks upward.
You get out and walk towards her.
"Do you know how to dance?" she asks you.
"A little," you say.
"I would like to dance before I go to sleep," she says. "Would you dance with me?"
"Yes," you say.
She takes one of your hands in hers and places another hand on your shoulder. There is no music, only the silence that pervades everything.
"Wait," you say. You walk back to the van. "I saw something in here." You ruffle through the glove compartment until you find the cassette. It says 'Sinatra' on it. You turn the van on and put the cassette in the player.
"Serenade In Blue" begins to play.
You return to Nina and take her hand again. And you dance the night away.
You sway back and forth as Frank Sinatra sings about whistling in the dark, until the song comes to an end and suddenly silence descends again.
You turn back to the van, for there should be another song on the tape, shouldn't there? But the van is gone. And behind the van, where the city should be, there is only emptiness.
You turn back to Nina, who has her eyes closed tightly. "Don't open them," you say. "Don't look."
You close your eyes as well and continue dancing with her.
"Will it hurt?" she asks.
"No," you say. "It'll be just like falling asleep."
She rests her head on your shoulder. "That's a good idea," she says. "I'll fall asleep right here."
As she rests her head down, you can feel her hot breath slow and then stop. She's asleep and then she's with the other dreamers.
You lower her body to the ground gently and then look around.
You are in a small patch of earth while around you is only nothing. You wonder if it let you have that one last dance.
Perhaps this is a dream, you think. Or a play. But now the play is over. The curtains draw down. The audience has gone home. The set is empty.
You look up to see nothing. You look down to see nothing. Nina's body has already vanished.
You wish you could have vanished alongside her. You wish you had more time. You wish a million wishes, but none of them come true. There are no more stars, so no more wishes.
You hope, wherever you are going, you will get to see the stars again, see them light up the sky. You miss them. You miss everything.
And then you don't miss anything.
es