The fire burned with a fierce determination against the hot humid air. It had managed to capture some of the colors of the spectacular setting August sun with its yellow and orange flames. William Duplessis shared his line of sight between the dancing flames and the ever expanding night sky. He hoped to be able to witness the Perseid meteor showers the way he did every summer when he was a kid.
So now, 20 years after the last time he ever paid attention to the night sky, he found the old stretch of lonely beach he used to harass when he was a wee lad and now sat and waited and meditated on the fate of fallen stars and fallen dreams. He smiled when he looked down at his lap -- his old childhood friends were replaced by a new friend and occasional demon: bourbon
He took a deep swill of the smooth liquor and looked up at the nascent, blinking stars. He was back in his home town after receiving an email from his uncle that Greg Rayburn, city councilman, varsity wide receiver and all around too nice of a guy, had perished in a motorcycle accident on his way to work the morning of August 10th. He was 39.
Will was the same age. But as he had driven down to the old homestead, he had begun to feel strangely older -- the familiar road still had the same curves, but the houses had changed. Old trees had come down while and others had taken root where once there was nothing. There was change, evolution and stagnation by the side of each stretch of road, crystallizing for him that all he'd known for over a decade was immobility.
So after Greg's funeral and the standard exchange of life summaries with other so called mourners, Will bought a bottle of Jim Beam and decided to go looking for forgotten stars.
*****
The fire had died down a bit and Will was now gazing at the dark sky -- a third of the bourbon had gone down his gullet and he had enjoyed the distorted seizures of the flames as they refracted through the bottle and the liquor. But he had put the bottle aside after having counted the first five shooting stars -- 10 minutes later he was up to 15 streakers.
Will shifted on the old blanket he used to keep his ass off the sand and pulled off his shirt, offering his bare chest to the stars, hoping one might actually make it through the atmosphere and knock him back a few decades. To know then what I know now, he mused as he stretched out on the blanket and watched the stars wink back at him before shooting away.
A few minutes passed when Will felt an odd, rhythmic rumble through the beach floor. The sound was familiar but it didn't register right away until the audible but muffled tha-thump echoed to his ears. He sat up and took a quick sip of bourbon and turned to his left and saw a shadowy bouncing figure coming his way. He quickly understood that someone was horseback riding, probably looking for falling stars like he was.
The horse slowed its gallop to a trot when it broke the hazy edge of the light given off by the dying embers of his campfire. It was a beautiful black mare -- one of those animals that embodied grace and power and appreciation for its innate force could condone love for it. As the mare approached him its rider became cast in the firelight: a woman of medium stature with long dark hair.
As Will rose to meet them he frowned when the firelight glinted off something metallic she was holding.
"Howdy stranger," she plainly said as the barrel of the rifle she carried came into view. Her voice was like a salty sea breeze, cool and refreshing but potentially vengeful -- her posture was one of guarded menace: she held the rifle by its stock while it rested in the crease of her right thigh. Will didn't move when she spoke, aware the she was perfectly positioned to drop the rifle into a firing stance quickly enough to target and take him down no matter which direction he took. He felt that she was particularly able at that.
"Hey," will said as he waived to her with his bottle. Three stars shot overhead. "Nice Horse. Nice gun."
"Much obliged."
"Your welcome. She's a mare, right?"
The unknown rider simply nodded while the mare bucked lightly and snorted.
"Is that an m1917?" Will asked, gesturing at her rifle. She just made a tsk sound. "Ah. P14 chambered for British .303 ammo, right?"
Will saw the shadows of her face shift and realized her brow furrowed. "You know your guns, sir," she said with a slight twang. The mare trotted a few steps and its rider came into his full view when the horse turned away from the fire. The rider was a beautiful but petite young woman -- her 2 piece black bathing suit was cut high on her thigh and displayed her graceful but toned legs while her top tied at the base of her neck, accentuating her slight shoulders and elegant arms. Despite her fragile looking frame, she carried the heft of the old rifle with ease. Her skin glowed amber in the firelight -- when he tried to look beyond her, the ample silhouette of her C-cup bosom blotted out the falling stars.
"My stars!" she suddenly exclaimed, dropping the rifle while the sky seemingly exploded with shooting stars. Before it hit the sand Will had already thrown himself to the ground in case the rifle went off. But as he landed with a heavy oomph he couldn't help but notice the sincere joy she showed before the beauty of the Perseid's.
"Look at those!" she gleefully exclaimed. Will rolled onto his back and managed to look in the direction she pointed to and a rapid fire shower of falling stars streaked though the sky. Enthralled by the display, he made his way to his feet and threaded the sand to join her to better see the shower. When the mare shifted nervously he calmed her by offering her his open hand. After a few sniffs and an agreeable snort, he patted her where her neck met her withers and she bobbed her head happily and pushed against his hand and he changed his pat to a pleasant scratch.
"You apparently are familiar with horses, sir," the rider said. "But I fear I am not familiar with you."
Will stepped back from her and, gripped with a sudden urge, he kneeled before her, his arms spread wide. "My Lady, I am William Duplessis. Late 20 years of this little burg and a fan of staring at the night sky while it rains its little dreams."
She laughed wholeheartedly as Will stood, brushing the sand from his knees and stretching to his full height. He felt her eyes roam across his lightly haired chest as the crackling campfire cast dancing shadows across his skin. Will had once been a heavyset man -- 230 lbs on a barrel chested, 5'7 inch frame, till a heart scare sent him on a path to better health. Two years and 40 lbs later he proudly presented her with a trim and fit body -- he could swear he heard her smack her lips together.
She hopped off the horse with deer-like agility and almost floated to the ground and chewed on her lower lip for a second while appraising him like she might a stallion. Tossing her long mane of dark hair with a flick of her delicate wrist, Will found something familiar about the gesture.
"William Duplessis. You're not what I remembered -- and yet you are."
*****
The summer night lay quiet as the stars rested and Will's blue eyes met with those of the younger woman he had just met. And yet, as he observed her more closely, he remembered a impish nose and pouty lips and those hazel eyes that always looked sadder than they should be.
