Rhapsody

constellations: horologium

the twelfth night.
10:51 p.m.

i brave my fears and go anyway.

when i enter the clearing, i stop.
there's a shadow lying on the ground.
and then i see that corner of his mop of hair -
that the moon is shining on,
turning copper to silver.

i run to him.

orion

he looks up to see her standing over him,
mouth slightly open.

hey.

where were you?

busy.

her eyes narrow and he feels guilty.

my family...there
was a little emergency.
i couldn't get out of the house.
sorry.

i relax.

it's okay, you don't have to apologize
for something like that.

except i do,
but you just don't know it.

i brought you something for your bruise.

he raises an eyebrow but
sits up anyways.

a salve?

yep.

one of those traditional herbal
hokey-pokey things?

she frowns slightly.

i made it.
from my grandma's recipe.

oh.

there's the guilt again.

how he hates it,
the oppressive, suffocating weight of it -
of fucking guilt.
of knowing you've done something wrong,
but there's no way you could fix it
ever.

sorry. i was kidding.

she rolls her eyes.

yeah, yeah,
mr cynic.
look that way. i'll put some on you.

at the first touch of her fingers
on his face,
he holds perfectly still.

do you want to hear about a new constellation?

he sounds a little hoarse,
for some reason.
is he getting ill?
the nights are getting awfully cold, now,
but he still comes wearing only a jacket
over his thin t-shirt.

i try to keep my hand steady.

it is slightly discerning to be this close to him.

his eyes are watching me
almost
too intently.

sure,
i say finally. i wonder if he notices the tremble in my voice.

this one's called horologium.
it means -

- wait!

what?

let me try and figure this out.

he smiles into the dark.

okay.

silence.
she stops rubbing the salve on his bruise,
and he almost misses her touch.

but only because the salve really does seem to help.
only because of that.

horo,
she muses.
horo-logium.

yes.

shh, be quiet. let me think.

he smiles again.

horo sounds a little like...hour?
so something about time?

he shrugs, but his smile grows.

and logium...
a log...
a time-log? a tree that tells time?
no, no.
a log can be a record, too - like a ship's log.

he doesn't stop smiling
as he reaches up and starts playing
with a strand of my hair.

close, arrow. you're getting close.

okay, so a record. a record of time?
a clock!

he grins and tugs on my hair.

nice job.

okay, now tell me about
the clock.

he pulls on her arm gently,
making her lie down beside her.
he puts an arm around her and she leans against his bony shoulder.

it's pretty small, actually,
and really faint.
you can't see it in this sky.

oh.

she sounds sad.
something in his chest tightens.

but other people can see it
elsewhere?

probably.

i envy them.

because they can see horologium,
and you can't?

no, don't be silly.

then why?

because they're
elsewhere.

he turns away from the stars to look at me.

you'd rather not be here,
with me?

no! no! not like that!
i just meant -

i stop mid-sentence, because i'm not sure
what i was about to say, anyway.

he smiles a little. it almost hurts.

it's okay, i get it.
i'd rather be
elsewhere,
too.

i can't be sure if he really
gets it,
but then he turns back to the stars
and i feel like the conversation is over.