For You

Stargazing and Important Questions

I finally felt like I was truly in the process of achieving my task. Days passed, and I watched Lexi work hard on her entry piece for the West Bridge's Writing program. She never let me read her work, but I spent hours watching her scribble in her journal. Watching her write, something in my gut prickled with excitement, a deep instinct that I was on the right track.

     Initially, Lexi had questioned me on grandpa's constant absence, but the empty home served as a perfect get-away, and she promptly forgot about it. Coming over for the third time that week, we completed our weekly homework at the kitchen table. Per my usual, it didn't take long to contemplate putting it all away. The only reason I forced my pencil to keep writing was for Lexi's sake.

     "Are you bored?" Lexi asked with a small chuckle.

     With the uncontrolled bouncing of my leg, the glances of exasperation shot towards my calculator and the odd gaze of longing directed at the patio door, I failed to hide my boredom.

     "Yes," I admitted. There was no fooling her. I might as well make the best of the situation. "Can we go outside?"

     "You sound like Beau," she teased, but shut her textbook, nonetheless. Compared to a 7-year-old? My brow flicked into my hairline.

      "I need fresh air," I reasoned. I could be compared to a 7-year-old if it got me what I wanted. "Bring your notebook."

      I liked to encourage her to write as much as she could. Whether it was the Writing program entry or her poetry, I saw the way she lit up when she had a pen and notebook in hand. I loved to watch the twinkle of passion, or the strange expressions that crossed her face whenever she lost herself in her writing: the pouting of lips when she thought deeply, or the smirk when she laughed at her own words.

      Dressed in winter coats, thick gloves, and knitted hats, we fell into the hammock with a large blanket thrown over our bodies. Heads on opposite ends of the hammock, bodies entangled, Lexi wrote in her notebook while one of my outstretched legs swung us.

      Except for the few constellations I pointed out, we were silent. We didn't need to speak to enjoy the others presence. I was content to simply have her by my side; continuously switching my gaze from her elegantly moving hand to the stars.

      When the sun started to set and faces became difficult to discern, Lexi put her notebook away. Deciding to invert her position, she moved so that she was lying next to me. Pulling her against my chest, her body so small compared to mine, I smiled softly. I kept swinging us with my leg, wrapping my arms around her small torso. We swayed silently for many moments.

      "What do you think happens after death?" I asked randomly. The question haunted me most nights. Since I'd first seen my grandfather again in the white room, I couldn't help but wonder what came next. Grandpa certainly seemed to have implied that something more was to come. Something good.

      Surprised by the question, Lexi shifted in my arms to get a better look at my face. "Where did that come from?"

     "I finished my English essay and it just got me thinking." I wanted to pat myself on the back for the quick response. Death was a common dominator in Hamlet, I wouldn't raise any suspicion.

      Satisfied with my answer, Lexi nodded. She was silent as she thought-over her response.

      "I don't know," she eventually answered. "But I definitely think it's good."

      "So, Hamlet's fear was unnecessary?"

     "No, I think it was completely necessary. If he hadn't been afraid, he may have deemed death better than his life. His story would have ended much too soon."