Two Girls At Night #MidnightSunMovie

Two Girls At Night

"Tasha," Jhanvi says, wrapping her arm around mine. "What's wrong?"

In the dark autumn sky, stars blink a Morse code I'm desperate to decipher, because I'm apprehensive about answering her question. We're both seventeen-year-old lesbians with dark skin and brown eyes. But the major difference between us is that my constant anxiety and OCD rituals might push her away after only three months of dating. I don't want that to happen.

We're wandering through a suburban neighborhood, traipsing across a squishy lawn, but still enjoying the warm air as we search for our scavenger hunt's holy grail: Big Bill. He's this urban legend deer rumored to have a vintage cola can stuck on his antler. I mean, he must be a fantasy creature; deer shed their antlers at some point, but I didn't mention that to the event organizers.

Jhanvi must sense I'm digging a moat around myself with my thoughts because she nudges my shoulder, sending some of my dreadlocks flying across my face like windshield wipers. I use my phone to push them behind my ears.

"You know what's not overwhelming?" she asks, laughing. "This silence." Her straight black hair glides across the white polo she's paired with a denim skirt. Entranced, I think about kissing her. 

But, I nod. "Sorry."

She tugs me closer as we pass by honeysuckle shrubs. To prevent my mind from fixating on the shrubs' scent, or on the warmth of Jhanvi's skin, I tap my phone against my jeans. We stop in front of small park and peer into its darkness, jonesing for Big Bill sighting.

I still owe Jhanvi an explanation, but my phone vibrates. Her's does too. She guffaws, and my body teems with enough euphoria to fill an arena; she could've easily rolled her eyes. 

We uncouple, and I check the text:

thirty minutes left! no photo proof, no prize! 

While she's eyeing her phone, I finally answer her original question. "I failed my driving test." Because my nerves, like my thoughts, betray me sometimes.

"I'm sorry," she says. It's more than sympathy. She smiles at me. "But, consider this: until you pass, you'll just have to endure spending more time with me."

"I guess," I say, smirking.

A loud car honk startles us. 

A hipster teen leans his head out the window, and asks: "Big Bill 'round here?"

"No," Jhanvi says. Disappointed, he speeds away.

We pad into a cul-de-sac community with expansive lawns. We stop walking, and as I turn toward Jhanvi's face, something near a hedge enters my peripheral vision. 

Then it moves toward us.

Seconds later, we're staring at stag.

With a dented soda can stuck on its antler.

"Big Bill," we say with exuberant voices.

In awe of Bill Big, neither of us can lift our phones. We don't need pictures for this moment to be real.

Instead, we grab each other's hands and squeeze.

And, as Big Bill bounds away, I think only of Jhanvi.