For the first time, the concept of cost occurred to me.Aster and everything he had given me came with a cost.Yes, I could write now, and everything that barred my progress before—even those elusive tripping points that messed with my sense of confidence—no longer impeded me.But neither of us were free.
I was missing time with Aster, clear and simple.And time was one thing I could never get back.
When I showered, I took extra care to rinse out the oily buildup in my hair.My heart beat irregularly, speeding at random and then slowing again.I stood still in the water and placed an uneasy hand over my chest.Either I was ascending to something beyond human or losing what humanity I had left.
When I turned off the water, I took a couple deep breaths of steam and ignored the fact that I felt dizzy, that the walls of the bathroom shifted even as I dried my hair and slipped on a set of clean clothes.The small porcelain doll watched me from her stand.Her eyes glittered in the light more than usual until I felt the need to look away.
I didn’t know how to greet my parents.They would want a tour of the lighthouse and dinner at one of the local restaurants, preferably something with view of the shore.And I wanted to impress them.If Aster decided to play nice, he might pour them some of his indulgent wine and we could end the evening sitting out on the porch overlooking the ocean.
Then there was the question about Aster, about how to introduce him and explain his presence.Lying came more readily than telling the truth when it came to Aster.I could already hear myself explaining that my guest was a local boy, my tour guide who knew a thing or two about sinking ships and storms at sea.He helped me with research, and all great writers needed to research, right?
But every time I thought of Aster, a new feeling flooded my chest.Hunger.Desperation.Shame?
No.Why would I be ashamed of someone who had helped me so much?
Shame implied guilt and wrongdoing, and our work couldn’t have been better.But increasingly I saw an element of self-consciousness and a departure from nature in our relationship.To us.I thought of the scene we shared on the ocean floor, the way he removed my clothes and made love to me there on the wreck of a sunken ship.My knees buckled at the reality of the sensation, at the clarity of my memory from a supposedly invented encounter.
The steam on the mirror had begun to lift, revealing a stain of pink blushing across my cheeks.
I looked away from the mirror and took a breath, and my heart calmed.
Before I ran down the stairs again, I pulled a tag from the armpit of my shirt and realized that I’d never worn these clothes before.So many of my plans had changed that I hardly recognized myself from three months prior.Even last year felt like another lifetime ago.Aster had been the only person in my life since June, and I hardly knew how to prepare for the presence of anyone else.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, a car door slammed shut.I looked for Aster, but he had disappeared.
“Aster?”I asked out loud, already aware that he had chosen this time to disappear.So much for finding a way to stay alone.He preferred to hide when the pressure grew too strong.
The lighthouse was an old structure, even a historic site, and as such the lighthouse quarters had no working doorbell installed.I waited until after I heard the knocks to open it, and all the while my heart pounded with all the anxiety that would have come with meeting someone for the first time.
Then I opened the door, and when I saw my parents, a tremor worked its way down my limbs.Mom stood taller than Dad, thin in a long, vintage dress and bonnet.She looked so impressionistic that Winslow Homer might as well have included her in his painting on the living room wall.Dad had a tanning line I could already see forming around the thick black frames of his sunglasses.Both appeared as strangers, distant and unfamiliar.
It wasn’t just that I felt a distance between myself and them.It was that they both looked different now, glossy like the pages in a magazine.And I was a person holding the magazine, outside and with the ability to flip it shut.
“Hello,” I said.The word fell flat on my lips.It was anticlimactic, estranged, but for all of my experience writing and finding ways to convey feelings, I couldn’t imagine anything else I could have said.My thoughts raced with Aster and all Aster and I had done and the fact that I didn’t feel rightly human anymore.
My mom hugged me, a move which I reciprocated only partially.She said something nice and cookie-cutter for a greeting.Scripted.
My dad entered the room without bothering with a conventional greeting, an equally scripted appearance.He hadn’t come here to see me, as I should have figured before they came in.My mom’s script revolved around generic friendliness and social obligations.My dad’s centered around atmosphere, things—comfort, curiosities, abnormalities.Still predetermined.More and more I felt like we were all puppets and that Aster had given me the ability to see the strings that controlled our movements.
“I love the view,” my dad said, pointing out of a back window to the beach.“Can we go up to the tower?Do they let you up there?”
“They let me everywhere,” I said.
Then he moved to the shipwreck cross on the wall, skimming the plaque nearby and touching the rough wood with his fingers.My chest burned when I saw him touch it, and instinctively I searched for a way to distract him.
“Come on,” I said.“I’ll show you around outside.”
Aster came down the stairs then, quiet and catlike.I turned around and looked at him and almost introduced him, but he put a finger to his lips to signal for silence.I’ve fixed it so they can’t see me,he said.It’s better this way.Go on and show them around.I’ll follow.
I nodded at Aster, trusting him, and proceeded to lead my parents outside.
While we walked around to the back of the house, Aster coached me in a series of pleasant lies to describe how I’d spent my time since my arrival in June.
I couldn’t have asked for better weather.It’s been sunny every day, and the beach is completely private.Sometimes I’ll sneak out here during the evenings as well and relax under the stars.We have a good view of the Milky Way.
We—I’d used we.I was thinking of Aster and I in the plural.
The slip passed unnoticed, even by the muse.
