Cape May

Something’s been tugging at you around the edges tonight, and the sleeping’s been difficult. The glow of the clock seems too bright (and probably cutting into your serotonin level), the vents seem to be blowing too hard, and you can’t seem to get the comforter to cover you no matter what you do. A song has crept into your head now, or did you leave the music on? For some reason your pillow keeps trying to fall apart. You’re tired, but wakeful, and you’ve dropped in and out of sleep so many times you’re not sure this time whether you’re opening your eyes into reality or dream…
The clock light glow has been replaced by the dashboard light. The breeze coming in through the window pushes your hair across your face. You turn, and the beach towel you’ve been snuggling up in falls away again. I reach over to pull it back up on you, and you startle with the recognition, jarring loose my balled-up sweatshirt that you’ve been using as a pillow.
“It’s a little loud, isn’t it?”
Sorry, it’s one of my favorite preludes, and in order to catch the softer notes,…
[“Where’re you taking me this time?”
The intersection of science and myth, right between predictability and chance, where wishes can be made.
“Again? What I meant was, in what setting?”
I’m going out to the beach to look to the Perseids, you still want to come along?
“Isn’t that pretty late?”
Yeah, that’s why I’m driving – otherwise I’da probably had to carry you there.
“What time?”
Two-thirty to four AM?
“You know, if it was anybody else asking,…”
Look, almost all of it’s just on paper, so you can get to it later when you’re more awake. I’ll go by myself, just close your eyes again and you’ll be right back in bed.
“I want to go with you, but I need some coffee or something.”
Alright, I’ve got it covered,…]
The smell of coffee rises to your consciousness from the travel cup in the center console
“Did you make this?”
Yeah, so cross your fingers. With milk, right? Plus, there’s more in the Thermos.
“Also with milk in it? But you don’t put milk in yours.”
If you’re coming along, I can’t be bothered to notice what’s in the coffee.
[“A little early in the story for getting all sappy, isn’t it?”
Yeah, that just slipped out, I’ll get right back to business…
“Wait, you’ve got a little drop of sweat on your forehead,… there, that’s better.”
Now who’s getting sappy? What’s that mean anyway, ‘sappy’?
“We better get back to ‘back to business’”
Right, right, here goes…]
We pull right up to the wall and park below the promenade. Grab that Thermos and your blanket from the back seat.
[“If you had my blanket, what’d you have me struggling with the beach towel for?”
Um, sorry, I didn’t think to have brought the blanket until I realized we’d be sitting in the sand within a few lines of here.
“Next time, will you let me help with the planning?”
I’ll see what I can do.]
I’ll bring the backpack and the picnic basket.
At the top of the ramp, the promenade is clearly marked with a prohibition on rollerblading and bicycle riding until 4 AM. Just a couple hours to go, they’ll probably be lining up soon for that prime 4 o’clock moment. It always makes me wonder, why 4? Why not 3? It’s no more farfetched. I mean, is there really anyone up who’s going to…
“You mean anyone other than us?”
Good point, but this is different, I’m sure you’ll agree when you see.
“It’s what I’ve come to expect from you.”
Well, I couldn’t stand to disappoint.
“You couldn’t”
The sound of the waves is calling us, inviting us to come over and relax, starting to dilate our time and slow down our movements. The crickets along the sea wall add a quicker counterpoint.
[“I like those two sounds”
Some coincidence that I put ‘em both in then isn’t it?
“Hmmm”]
Even at this hour it’s warm, and humid, but with a constant breeze. Just enough to take the sweat off your brow before it can bead. Away from the road, the breeze sometimes brings a chill and goosebumps on your forearms: maybe you ought to have brought that sweatshirt with you.
“What makes you think I didn’t? It’s right here: did you want it?”
Only to offer to you – you hang on to it, I’ll be warm enough.
We kick our shoes off at the end of the wooden walkway and set out across the newly sifted sand out toward the ocean to get away from the light of the street. Extra light shouldn’t be a problem tonight. We’ll be looking over the ocean past the darker part of the Cape – maybe it’d be better if we walked further east up the beach. The moon’ll be no trouble: the quarter moon set down the other end of the beach a couple hours ago.
“I think walking further would be good, could we?”
Sure, let me carry the blanket.
“No, I can get it.”
I know you can, but how’re you gonna do that and take my arm?
Oh,… here you go.”
How far up you want to go?
“I don’t know, but I’m still trying to wake up, and the sand feels good – soft and cool,… and now that I’ve got an arm to hang on to…”
I’m a little dopey myself – look back at our tracks weaving back and forth as we lean and pull on each other reeling up the beach. You pull a bit more and I yield to it, and we drift over to where we’ve crossed the wet sand and are strolling in the foam. You tug again, but couldn’t mean to go further out, so I pull you back to me. You stop suddenly and I jerk to a stop too and wait for you to continue. Still you pause, and when I turn to find your intent, I find you looking up at me. What? What is it?
“I just wanted to be sure I was really here.”
As much as I can manage at this time of the morning. I think it’s best we don’t question it too closely.
“Raise an eyebrow.”
Left,… or right? I brush your hair out of your face so you can clearly see, and leave my hand on your shoulder until you reach up and take it in yours.
“You’re right, no reason to question it too closely.”
Come on then, and walk with me.
We go beyond the end of the promenade and just past the end of Beach Avenue. We spread the blanket out and weight the corners down with our shoes with the picnic basket on one side and the backpack on the other. I fish around in the small pocket to find the flashlight and use it to help me find the guidebook and compass. I have a hard enough time picking out the constellations in the city where they’re maybe hundreds of visible stars. Here, where it seems you can find a star no matter where you look, and another star behind that, I’m lost without a guide. Even then, really. The guide speaks to the predictability of the skies, but misses a lot of what the sky is like. It speaks of star names and classifications, wavelengths, projections of orbits, sizes and compositions, calculus, wheels within wheels. All of that is fine during the day or through a telescope, but at night on the beach the stars are all pictures and stories and the bright sparkling eyes of the firmament. Looking for the Perseids means first finding Perseus.
His own quest took him throughout the known world and the underworld. He beheaded the gorgon Medusea, spawning Pegasus. Fleeing her sister gorgons, he found Cepheus’ daughter chained to the rock. He saved Andromeda by cutting off the serpent’s head. The hero of his time, and Zeus’ son (Per + Zeus = Perseus), Athena placed his constellation in the sky.
He should be in the Northeast right now – and there he is. Right next to him is Andromeda. Just above her is Pegasus. On the other side (we’ll call it the left side) is Casseopeia and beyond her is Cepheus. Just above Cepheus is the Dragon, but I’m not sure if it’s the same one.
Right about now should be the peak for tonight and we should be able to see a meteor about every minute if this is a good year. So, if we just shift over we should be able to just lie this way and gaze up. Then,… just,… wait,…
“Was that one?”
I missed it, my blinks are taking a little longer. There’s one.
“Yeah.”
They’re not much more than quick thin streaks that barely last the time it takes to see them. At most, they leave behind an afterimage on your retina for a moment of two. Nearly illusory, the next arrives only when you’re sure you’ve seen the last, and never where you expect. About half of them you might attribute to imagination or tricks of the light.
“There’s a big one!”
Wow! I guess that’s the exception that proves the rule. You gotta wish on that one.
“I did already.”
What for?
“I don’t think you’re supposed to tell.”
Hmm, you may be right about that.
“What’d you wish for?”
For your wish to come true.
Perseus is no disappointment, radiating meteors regularly over the next hour, despite our waning attention. The breeze picks up, and you put the sweatshirt on and sit up against me. I wrap my arms around you and peek around the hood to see you smile.
“You missed one.”
Wish for me will you?
You close your eyes to consider a wish, and you let yourself relax into me, and you see the track of the meteor, and Perseus on his travels, and feel my arms around you, and Athena whispers into your ear, just barely audible above the waves, and the sand shifts slightly beneath you, and you drop off to sleep…

Hey, wake up. Hey in there.
Not sure what you’ll wake to this time, you open your eyes slowly and cautiously. We’re still on the blanket on the beach. I’ve managed to just get a hold of the Thermos and poured a cup of coffee with one hand to keep from shifting too much and waking you. You take a deep breath in with a shrug and slight shiver, then hum into my shoulder with a grin, glad to still be here.
I whisper to you with my temple up against yours: Hey sleepy one, look up. There’s a show about to start.
The stars have all gone from the sky. Only Venus remains, watching us with interest. To the east, from within orange clouds, a red sun coalesces and rises through the spectrum to yellow. It steals its color from the clouds, which fade to a pale haze. The sky counters the sun’s ascendance by deepening its blue to provide a vivid border to contain the sun’s brilliance before it ignites everything. The water and the waves try to keep up, increasing their contrasts and mirroring both sun and sky as a dazzling golden swath in a rippled blue field.
A dragonfly zips up. It pauses over us, hovering and zagging, taking our measure before continuing on.
“Nice hair.”
What? Oh, good thing I’ve got my cap in the bag. Come on, we’ll pick up here and head back to a bench on the promenade for our picnic breakfast.
“That was a big yawn, aren’t you sleepy?”
A little dull, yeah – I’ll let you pick the bench and imagine what we’ve got for breakfast. Please include a muffin for me, okay?
“Sure, what kind?”
Blueberry maybe, or lemon poppyseed.
We stop for a minute to watch two butterflies dancing among the pink-edged white morning glories growing wild in the scrub by the sea wall. We sit at a bench, and you start getting the basket unpacked while I rub my forehead and eyes.
“What’d you do while I was sleeping?”
Kicked around an idea for a story.
“Will you tell me?”
Of course. Pour me some more coffee would you? It starts out with us traveling.
“Good, I like those.”…