Light Years Read online

  The crisp night air was so different from the soft, featherlike feel of a Virginian summer night. I wondered what winter would feel like here. I had seen snow only once before, on a trip to France with my parents. My brother had raced to the elongated widows of our hotel room in Paris and said, “Look!”

  The glass in the window was as old as the little hotel we were staying at, a warehouse from the eighteenth century. It was rippled, creating waves along its flat plane, distorting the view outside. It was what happened to glass over time.

  For a moment, looking at the odd view from our window, I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. I thought it was feathers floating down, that someone in the floors above us had a massive pillow fight. Or that all of the thousands of pigeons endemic to Paris had taken flight simultaneously, shedding the small downy feathers at their chests. Finally it clicked in my mind. My eyes made sense. Snow.

  I looked forward to seeing snow again, though I was told it only fell here twice last winter.

  Three students came stumbling out of a dorm room, reeling with drink, flushed with their youth and good fortune. It was Friday night, and lights from parties were cropping up like chicken-pox sores on the dark body of the university grounds.

  I breathed the night air, tried to take pleasure in the clear night. The leaves had turned colors, though I couldn’t see them in the dark. I couldn’t get over how these ordinary-looking trees could produce such explosive changes. Trees never looked like that in Israel.

  I didn’t know why I returned to this thought so often—whether Israel had something or not. I guess I always felt that anything truly important or wonderful could be found in Israel. Maybe only in tiny quantities, but there nevertheless. When I thought about the beauty in Israel, the ocean, the pastel desert, I realized how much I missed it, and then I remembered that I was in exile.

  A sudden shout of laughter made my heart race. Two guys guffawed and stumbled out of a West Range room, the historic graduate-student rooms off the Lawn. With the door open, I could see clearly into the small room, packed with people, full of music and light. I saw someone tilt a longneck beer bottle and swallow, come up for air, and laugh at a joke. I turned and veered off toward the gardens, walking slowly on the pale gravel path to reduce the noise of my footfalls. The undulating wall of tall, heavy trees created pockets of deep shadows and gloom.

  I entered my favorite garden, seeking by memory the white bench at the curve of the brick fence. The moon was out, waxing half full. The trees threw shadows like dark veins on the smooth lawn. I found the bench, tucked romantically beneath the outspread limbs of a cedar tree, which was lush and green when everything else had started to wither and fade.

  I closed my eyes, hoping to relax and listen to the small noises of the night, trying to recognize what was what.

  Footsteps crunched on the gravel path outside the garden. I held my breath, listening. They stopped in front of the gate. Voices giggled, and the latch of the garden gate creaked open.

  I scrambled off the bench and ducked behind it, my heart speeding as though I was doing something wrong. I peered over the bench at the intruders. How could someone else come into my garden? No one came here at night. No one but me. I didn’t want to be seen. If I stood up and left, they would certainly ask questions.

  They slipped in, clearly visible on the lawn, painted in silver, white, gray, and black, and looked around, making sure they were alone. Then they leaned into each other, slowly, and kissed. They were beautiful. They stood still, lips together, looking like ghosts. The moon outlined their forms, hid their faces. My heart slowed. One of his hands disappeared in her pale hair; the other clutched her close, then slid down her back.

  I bit my lip, watching their kiss. It had never occurred to me before, but these secluded gardens were perfect for this sort of thing. My palms were sweaty and I wiped them on my jeans. Their kisses were growing intense. Her hands tugged at his belt.

  I eyed the brick wall behind me, but it reached above my head. I could scale it but not silently. They would see me. They would be embarrassed, or scream, and I didn’t want that. I was invisible. They would never know anyone saw what they did. I was night air. Settling down lower under cover, I peered through the painted slats of the bench.

  I had forgotten what love looked like.

  “Not out in the open, anyone could walk in and see us,” whispered a breathless voice. “By the trees. In the shadows.”

  Don’t, I wanted to tell her. Don’t come any closer.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Her voice was excited. She tilted her head back, letting him kiss her neck. She laughed when he bent over her ear, kissing and nipping, large hands cupping her face like a mug of tea. I wished I had crept out. But now I was glued in place.

  They dropped to the ground, too caught up in each other to bother with the bench after all. I looked away. I wouldn’t watch. But my ears still heard, and I picked up the rustle of clothes coming off, the buzz of zippers opening. A shirt was thrown off, landing on the bench. I jumped.

  A male voice whispered, but I couldn’t hear what he said. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to know their names. That, somehow, would make all this shameful. But without their names it was only exciting and rare, like two dancers who didn’t know anyone was watching them. A soft laugh answered the whisper.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said.

  I felt tears well up and I bit down hard, to stop a whimper from escaping. I hadn’t made love in more than seven months. I hadn’t touched an exposed belly, hadn’t kissed that secret spot where someone’s heart beats in the hollow of their throat, hadn’t felt that free feeling of pressing up naked, chest to chest, arms twined around each other like a Celtic knot.

  I suddenly had the urge to laugh, because this was too much. Because they were just kids and they were having fun, and what was I doing here, watching them, feeling my heart break again?

  They lay still for a moment after they finished. They kissed and laughed and he helped her up. They both pulled up their pants and gathered the rest of their clothes. She picked up his shirt from the bench then turned away from me to give it back to him. She came so near to me I could have touched her.

  He brushed the dirt and leaves off her back and kissed her again.

  I waited for them to leave. They finally did, still giggling, whispering furiously, and giddy with daring. The sounds of their footsteps on the gravel path faded, tipsy laughter trailing after them like a banner. I crouched behind the bench, hunkered down in my makeshift bunker, feeling as though I had just fought a great battle. At last, the stillness I had come looking for returned to the garden. The smell of musty earth filled me and I let it calm me, steady and solid.

  Finally I rose, stiff as an old woman, feeling the cold in my knees, in the long muscles of my thighs.

  “Aht cholah,” I said out loud. “You’re sick.”

  What would it look like to someone floating above us, the young couple making love under a tree and me, crouched behind the bench, watching them like some goblin from a childhood tale? Watching and envying what I could not have. Tainting something lovely by my presence. I was ashamed. But I also felt lighter somehow, more at ease than when I’d first come in. They never saw me. I never disturbed them.

  Were these excuses or facts?

  I never realized how lovely two people could be, all that laughing between kisses, those tender caresses of love. Did I ever laugh when making love with Dov? I couldn’t remember.

  As I walked back, staying to the shadows, blending in, I felt like old glass, like viscous liquid was distorting my shape, rippling down my frame, pooling at the bottom. My vision was distorted, elongating, shrinking, depending on my density. I loved the night and at the same time I hated it. The night harbored secret and wonderful things to see and terrible truths to face if you were invisible like a ghost.

  I slept in my bed for nearly a week after the night of the lovers in the garden, dreaming very peaceful dreams, fee
ling very refreshed and alert. I finished three assignments and even turned them in early. It was really amazing what I could accomplish if I actually slept. But by the sixth night, I was awake at midnight and staring at the ceiling, listening to Payton’s breathing. I got up, dragged on my jeans and sweatshirt, and eased out of the darkened, sleep-heavy room.

  Coming off a week of good sleeping, I would have thought that I wouldn’t feel so tired now. As if I were a camel with humps that stored sleep instead of water. But in fact, my legs felt heavy and every step was an effort. I was angry at my body, or brain, or whatever it was causing this dysfunction. I was weary, but there was no sleep to be had.

  I was too tired to walk up Observatory Hill, so I just kept walking anywhere the sidewalk was flat or sloped downward. My eyes burned, and my nose began to drip in the cool night air. In a few more weeks I’d need to buy a heavier jacket for walking at night. For once I wasn’t alert as I walked. I didn’t look at the stars, didn’t hear the leaves rustling in the slight breeze. I just walked, doggedly, as if sleep were a destination I would arrive at. Eventually I found myself in front of the history department again.

  I sat down under the oak tree, leaning against its craggy bark. I nearly fell asleep, but then the side door of the building opened, spilling light into the night, startling me.

  I didn’t recognize him immediately. With the light shining behind him, all I could make out was a dark silhouette, though it was obviously a man. He reached in and turned out the light in the hall, then locked the door behind him. He turned and I saw his face clearly illuminated by the security light above the door.

  Justin.

  I must have made a sound because he turned slightly and looked directly at me.

  “Who’s there?”

  He couldn’t see me. I was wearing dark clothes, in the shadows, and his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark yet. I could have easily slipped away. Instead, I stood up and walked toward him.

  “Hi, it’s me,” I said. I cleared my throat because my voice was rusty. “Working late?”

  “Greenland.” He raised an eyebrow at the sight of me. “What are you doing here?”

  I shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep, decided to stalk you.” Not true, but maybe a part of me, a tiny little stupid part, hoped to see him. Maybe a part of me felt this meeting was inevitable.

  He stepped closer to me but didn’t rise to the bait.

  “Are you okay? Is everything all right?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  He half lifted a hand, as if he wanted to touch me.

  “You shouldn’t be out here alone, it’s not safe.”

  I snorted.

  “Why are you hiding in the shadows?”

  I shrugged again, trying for carelessness. I didn’t want his pity.

  “I wasn’t hiding,” I said. “I just can’t sleep. Why are you still here?”

  “My thesis is giving me fits. I thought I could work on it when the place was quiet, no distractions.”

  “Did it work?”

  “No. The distractions seem to come from the research, not the secretaries.” His features, in the orange light, were cast in copper and stone. It was hard to imagine him frustrated, unable to see his way. “Can I walk you home?”

  I ignored the small fizz of pleasure at the offer.

  “I’ll be fine.” He opened his mouth to protest. “I’m not ready to go back yet.”

  “Then let me stay with you. I’ll worry about you, out here alone.” He studied me in the meager light.

  I turned my face away. I was annoyed and uncomfortable around him during the day, but now, in the dark, I didn’t want to be alone.

  “Fine, whatever,” I finally said. “You can walk with me if you want to. It’s no big deal.”

  I suddenly felt like walking. He walked beside me, his bag, heavy with notes, hung diagonally across his chest like a bike messenger’s. We didn’t talk much. Maybe he was thinking about his thesis. At one point he turned to me.

  “You do this a lot, don’t you?”

  “Walk? Not sleep?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess.” I kicked a small rock and listened to it ricochet off the brick wall. We were nearing the garden where I’d seen the lovers. I didn’t want to think about them, about what they would do here in my place.

  “Did you always do it, or did something happen?”

  At first I thought I wouldn’t answer, but eventually I said, “Something happened a while ago.” The grimness in my voice flustered me.

  “Here, in Virginia?” A long pause. Then tentatively, “Or from before?”

  “It happened in Israel, okay?”

  I won’t answer anything else, I thought. Not another question about this.

  “Not Greenland?”

  I laughed, surprised. “No, not in Greenland.”

  He didn’t ask anything else.

  We walked for a while, nearly an hour I guessed, though my watch had stopped working three days before. I kept wearing it to remind me to get it fixed.

  I should ask him about his thesis, his research, I thought. But I didn’t want to break the silence. Besides, I didn’t really care. So I kept quiet and so did he, and we walked past the gardens and through one of the older residential neighborhoods near the university.

  “I live here,” he said, stopping in front of a brick duplex.

  The mood between us that night was inexplicable. There was something quiet and calm. It was as if everything else in the world had disappeared in those early hours of the morning. No Dov, no Brook, no foreign customs, just him and me in the stillness before dawn.

  “Do you want to come in?” he asked. He touched my hand. “You could try and sleep here if you wanted. I could take the couch.”

  I opened my mouth to say no.

  Instead, I said, “I’m tired.” And I was.

  “Come in, Maya,” he said. “Come inside and sleep.”

  I followed him, docile like a pet.

  Inside, he leaned in and kissed me, like I knew he would. I kept expecting indignation to come, resistance at this man whom I hardly knew, taking away Dov’s last kiss. But instead, I sank into the kiss and held him tightly. I was still thinking about the lovers in the garden. I was so tired of being alone, of aching for Dov.

  The whole time, as we stumbled into his bedroom, as he undressed me, asking me if I was sure, I felt disembodied, floating above myself. Not judging. Just watching. Slightly curious about where all this would go, how it would be between us. I felt no embarrassment standing before him, studying his very nice body made of long lines of muscles and ridges, his stomach taut as an athlete’s.

  He held me afterward, a companionable arm around my shoulders. It was very late. The busy street that went through his neighborhood was silent. No cars, no students. Dawn would break soon, making this another night in which I hadn’t slept. I shouldn’t have come into his house.

  “Listen,” I finally said, after lying there silently. “Don’t tell Brook.”

  “What a romantic thing to say.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know.” He rolled over on his side, propped himself up on his elbow, and looked at me. “I shouldn’t be surprised you’d say something like that, but I am. Are you ashamed?” His tone annoyed me.

  “No.” I sat up and kicked my legs to untangle the sheets. How could anyone irritate me this fast? “I’m not ashamed of anything I choose to do.” A lie.

  “Hey.” He laughed and grabbed my arm to keep me in bed. “Easy.”

  “Let go.” I struggled to get out of the bed. “I just want to keep this private. People would get the wrong idea.” I glanced over at his smug face and wanted to get out of there. He tightened his grip on my arm, holding me in place.

  “Let go, damn it!”

  “Not until you calm down.”

  I blew my hair out of my face and looked at him straight in the eyes. If I had seen a glint of humor, I don’t know what I would have done. Bu
t his face, inches away from mine, was serious, and the gray eyes fixed on mine were solemn. He was all but naked, lying next to me. I was finally embarrassed. What was I doing here? How did this happen?

  “Justin,” I said quietly. “Let me go.”

  He released my arms and sat up.

  “Maya—”

  “Stop.” I held out a hand as if to prevent his words from reaching me. “Just stop. I don’t want to talk.” I pulled the sheet around me so that it covered my breasts. I rubbed a hand across my tired eyes. “I need to go. I need to sleep.” I grabbed my sweatshirt from the floor. I didn’t bother to look for my bra or my shirt. I just shoved my arms through and zipped it up.

  “Maya, come on, we have to talk about this.” The look of utter confusion on his face might have been funny if I wasn’t so tired and sad. “What just happened here? What’s wrong? You can’t just leave like this.”

  “Watch me.” I got out of bed, found my jeans, and yanked them on. The denim was rough and slightly abrasive against my skin. I glanced over at him, avoided meeting his eyes. I made the mistake of looking at his bare chest.

  I closed my eyes. I should never have slept with him. I didn’t even like him.

  “Come back to bed,” he said softly. “Don’t leave like this.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  He got out of bed, slowly so as not to spook me. He touched my face lightly.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, turning my face away. “I can’t do this.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he murmured in my ear. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” I closed my eyes against his voice, his words. I wanted to believe those words. I wanted them to be true.