Forgive Me for Falling Through the Stars

            The air is chilling from crisp April rain and the scent of blooming flowers; pastel pinks, blues, and purples paint the sky. I watch Daniel move briskly down the bridge toward Amina’s grave. His deep breaths are audible as sweat trickles down his forehead and onto the bouquet of roses in his hand, yet the air hangs light and cool around us. When he stops five paces away from the grave, his breathing rate escalates. He hunches over, hands on knees, panting like he has just run a marathon. This is the closest he has ever made it to Amina. He lets go of the roses, as I try to quiet his breathing and the swirling anxious thoughts, but I am losing power. I resolve to pick him up and walk him back to the car. We will try again tomorrow. Like every other day.

            Alarm blares at 7 am. Coffee brews. Fatigue settles in around his eyes. Smell of fried eggs fills the air. Shower runs. He considers letting the steam suffocate him, but I don’t allow that thought to linger. The predictability of his routine is nauseating, like the salty liquid yolk that coats his dry throat. Mornings torture Danny. Amina appears to him, a smile plastered across her tired face. She moves her delicate hand through his tousled chestnut chair, and for that one moment, the line between the self and the other is blurred, a gray area between reality and fantasy. He is forced to remember, and when he returns from the stars, he shakes and sobs.

            Daniel was a chubby baby, weighing in at a whopping nine pounds, five ounces. He popped out with a full head of dark brown curls sitting atop his head like chocolate frosting on a vanilla cupcake. When he didn’t cry, the nurses and doctors flew into a frenzy in order to revive him. Maybe it was selfish, but I needed a few extra seconds alone with him. I wondered what secrets lay in the folds of his tiny brain. Danny was special; we quickly developed a profound and intimate bond. When kids at school called him names and shoved him into lockers, I gave him the wisdom to look past their immaturity and cruelty. When a peanut sent him into anaphylactic shock, I worked through the doctor’s hands to give him another chance at life. But by far my most successful feat was sending him Amina. 

            It was a warm September morning when he received the call that his brother had relapsed. His fifth stint in rehab, Danny had been forced to watch the family fall apart, not from the drugs, but from what the drugs did to his brother. The lying, the stealing, the constant disappointment had pushed his parents over the edge. They questioned every decision they had made in raising the two boys. Every pill he swallowed, needle he injected, line he snorted was a constant reminder of their inadequacy. After working tirelessly to keep the family from dissolving, Danny had become disillusioned and desperately needed answers. I sent him Amina. She wasn’t assigned to my sector, so I wrote the stars for a favor. And just like that, Amina was thrust into Danny’s life a blazing ball of fire and laughter.

            She gave him the gift of culture, art, and humor. She took him to Broadway shows, outdoor cafés in Paris, and local bars at midnight. She taught him how to listen, to feel deeply, and to love furiously. He thought less and acted more. She was light when he was heavy. She was water when his fire inhaled too much oxygen. She would put the pieces back together when he would fracture. They lived among the stars until the hidden darkness consumed Amina. I suspect the weight of holding everyone in her life up eventually became too much to carry alone. 

           Danny had gotten off of work early that night. Holding a bouquet of white roses as he walked through the door, he was greeted by quiet sobs seeping out of the bathroom. Amina was sitting in a pool of deep red blood, left wrist slit and leaking. He let go of the roses. Paralyzed at the horrific sight, he retreated from his body until the sounds of life pulled him back. The radiator buzzed. Muffled chatter came from the café next door. A bird chirped outside the window. Amina moaned. Amina.

            After moving the razor to hover over her untarnished right wrist, she looked up at the two of us, eyes wide, and begged, “Danny…forgive me.”

            No one was there to help me put Danny’s pieces back together this time. He was an impossible puzzle, and I could not get the pieces to fit, no matter how many different angles and combinations I tried. As much as people want to believe I can do anything, I have my limits. If someone does not want me, I am powerless to intervene. I come when I am called, but Danny never calls. I know I shouldn’t have meddled outside my sector, but Amina’s electric soul was undeniable. Danny was caught in the cross-fire of my experiment, collateral damage in a chaotic universe. It shouldn’t have surprised me then when the same darkness that consumed Amina took Danny as well, but it still did.

            He was taking the long hike up to the cemetery when I felt an overwhelming pull as he reached the bridge. It was an anchor on my essence. Danny was drowning, a lifeless body sleepwalking through life. It was cruel to force him to stay any longer. I had to accept that I had failed. It was clear to me now: Danny had left me long ago. So I released control. I stopped straining to hold him together. I dissolved the glue. And he looked up at me, months of unsaid words in his stare. So I let go. And he jumped. He jumped off the bridge. And he was falling through the stars before I knew it. He caught his breath. And he spoke. He talked to me for the first time in years.

           And he pleaded, “God…forgive me.”