Dating : Shooting Star

We saw a shooting star last night.

We were walking, hand in hand, talking about fears of commitment and finding a way forward. It was fragile, this conversation. Aware that we were in a minefield of vulnerability, we spoke each word carefully, earnestly, and sometimes with a little squeeze of the other’s hand — I’m here — trying to keep from blowing this lovely, tender thing to smithereens.

And then there it was.

I’m sure it stopped one of us mid-sentence.

“Whoa!” We both shot our eyes up to the sky, in wonder at what we had, just barely, seen. Our gaze lingered there, waiting to see if it would happen again.

He tugged on my hand: “Maybe it’s a sign — whatta ya think?”

I knew he was teasing me. Ben doesn’t believe in signs, or God, or the Divine, or any force beyond science.

But still, I tugged back and said, teasingly, “Yep.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe in that stuff. But it was cool.”

As for me, I don’t know if it was a sign — but it was, at the very least, a punctuation mark. An exclamation point? A question mark? A comma? I don’t know. The whole night felt full of punctuation that I couldn’t quite make out.

But it sure was something.