Star-Crossed

That's when it hit me. I knew what now must be done as if nothing else could be done.

I released the hug. I looked into Autumn's eyes, held her by the shoulders, and said, with a matter of speaking that forced an undisputable belief into myself, "Autumn, you're going to beat this cancer. And we're going to Joshua Tree to see that comet."

"What?"

"I have a tent in my dorm room and sleeping bags. Joshua Tree is only a two-hour drive. It's six now, which means we'll have plenty of time to see the comet tonight."

"But I --"

I held up my hand to stop her from speaking. "The comet's not coming back for another seventeen hundred years. I'm guessing we'll be dead by then, so this is our only chance. Do you want to see it or not?"

"I want to see it."

"Then that settles it. Come on, help me get your telescope into my car. And put your damn beanie on."

A smile grew on her face. She sniffed, wiped the remnants of her tears from her eyes and her cheeks, and said, "ok. Let's go."

We lugged her telescope down the hill to the car. Placed it and its tripod carefully into the trunk. Autumn found her beanie, put it back on her head, and when we got into the car, I called her mom.

"Hi, Ms. Campbell. I'm with Autumn."

"Oh, thank God. How is she? Is she alright?"

"She's fine. But we're um..."

I glanced at Autumn. She nodded knowingly.

"...We're going to Joshua Tree."

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, then, "No, you are not, young lady. What are you even thinking? She cannot afford to get sick before the surgery, Joey! You are bringing Autumn home right now."

I was never a rebel. So, saying what I had to say next was very hard for me. I grimaced as I replied,

"Sorry, I can't do that. There's a comet we gotta see. It's our last chance. I'll drive safely. And I promise you, Autumn will be back home tomorrow."

A heavy, nervous sigh. Then, "can you please put Autumn on the phone?"

I handed the phone to Autumn.

"Hi, Mom," she said sheepishly. "Yes, I'm fine."

Her mother spoke but couldn't pick out what she was saying, only that her voice was gentle. Judging by the growing happiness on Autumn's face, it seemed like we were going to be given the green light. Finally, Autumn smiled and said, "I love you too, mom," and hung up. She gave me a thumbs-up and bounced up and down excitedly in the seat.

We stopped by the dorm. Ran up to my room and grabbed the tent, the sleeping bags, some headlamps, two one-gallon Poland Spring water jugs, and all the granola bars I could find in my room. We packed it all into my car and were on the road in less than twenty minutes.

We were lucky with the traffic. Of course, we had to get through the short stretch of the eternal traffic jam on the 405 and the 10, but I cut up north to the 210, and even before we reached Pasadena, the traffic had thinned, and I was able to really punch it (safely like I promised Autumn's mom).

Driving on that highway eastward, the white highway lines flitting beneath us rapidly, with Autumn sitting in the seat to my right, I felt exhilaration, like I was standing spread-armed on the edge of a precipice, the moment before hopping off to fly across a great divide.

"We're like Thelma and Louise," I said.

"Don't they drive off a cliff at the end?"

"Oh. Yeah, they do. Ok, bad example, but you know what I mean."

Autumn chuckled. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

She connected her phone to the car's Bluetooth, and we created a road trip playlist, each taking turns to add a song.

The first song was hers. Walking in Memphis. We both knew the lyrics and belted it out.

♪Put on my blue suede shoes, and I boarded the plane! Touched down in the land of the Delta Blues in the middle of the pouring rain! ♫

By the time we were on the 15 towards Riverside, we were singing Starship's 'We Built This City.'

♪ We built this city! We built this city on rock and roll! ♪

As we passed through Riverside, it was 'I'm With You' by Avril Lavigne.

♫ It's a damn cold night! Tryin' to figure out this life. Won't you take me by the hand, take me somewhere new? ♪

The LA glow faded like a sunset, and the stars started to show up in a clear dark sky ahead of us.

The longer we drove, the sappier the songs got, and the more we let our voices soar (terribly). We sang along with Sara Bareilles to her song 'Gravity.'

♪Set me free, leave me be! I don't wanna fall another moment into your gravity

As we got onto the 62 and caught glimpses of our first Joshua trees, it was Jack Johnson singing 'Constellation.'

♪ It was just another night with a sunset and a moonrise not so far behind to give us just enough light to lay underneath the stars♫

I wanted to keep driving. I wanted to keep singing songs with Autumn. I wanted this to last forever. To be real, as cool as it would be to see the comet, I was kind of dreading it. To see it would mean the night would end. Then tomorrow, we would have to go back to LA, then Autumn would have to have her amputation and continue her fight with cancer. While in this car, that reality didn't exist.

Elton John was singing 'Can You Feel the Love Tonight' as we pulled up to the north gate of the Joshua Tree National Park.

It was past normal working hours, so the toll gate was closed. But Autumn had reserved a lot in the park over a month ago at a campsite that other amateur astronomers on Autumn's astronomy forum had recommended. So, all we had to do was fill out a check-in slip to say that we showed up and slip it into a post box at the gate. Autumn put the campsite's coordinates into Google Maps, and we entered the park.

The twilight was vast, and though there was still a twinge of daylight left, it was dark enough that the desert landscape couldn't be seen. It was now a panorama of shadows and jagged silhouettes, only our headlights revealing before us the narrow road that snaked its way through funny giant piles of sandy granite boulders and spiky Joshua trees that looked like figures frozen in awkward poses, like cartoon prison escapees caught in a searchlight.

After half an hour of driving through the dark desert, we found our campsite. It was cold outside of the car. Every breath birthed sharp puffs of condensation. The air was fresh and wet and still, and the stars that hung above us shimmered. There were more stars than I remember ever seeing in my life. The Milky Way made an arresting appearance, too, stretching all the way across the night sky, arcing out from the distant yellow globe of LA in the west, like an act of blinding defiance against the glowing artifacts of humanity.

Scattered across the darkness were little red orbs that danced like little will-o'-wisps around the Joshua trees and the desert shrubs. After a closer inspection, and after my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see that these little red spirits were really headlamps strapped to the heads of people. Many were tinkering with telescopes.

"Those are probably other stargazers trying to catch the comet," Autumn explained.

"Come on, let's set up!" Autumn whispered excitedly, clapping.

"Sounds good. How about you set up the telescope, and I'll do the tent?"

"Perfect!"

With my little headlamp snug on my forehead, giving me a dim red light, I set up the tent close to the telescope. I unrolled the sleeping bags inside the tent while Autumn set up her telescope.

"Ok, so the comet should be right over there," Autumn said, pointing up into the sky to the Southeast. "Somewhere right between Leo and Cancer. You won't be able to see it until the sky gets a little darker. Maybe a half-hour or so?"

"How's the telescope?"

"All set up."

"Camera?"

"Primed and ready."

"Battery?"

"Charged"

"Memory card?"

She flipped open the memory card slot on her camera. "In the slot."

"Hot chocolate?"

"Um, missing in action? Did you bring some?" she asked hopefully.

"Nope. But I sure could use some right about now."

"Same."

"We'll survive."

"Yep."

We plopped down inside the unzipped flap of the small two-person tent atop the sleeping bags to wait for the comet to show up in the night sky. Autumn sidled closer to me to share warmth, but I felt that her body was colder than mine.

I wrapped one of the sleeping bags around the both of us, she sidled even closer, and we rested our heads against each other's as we looked out at the starry skies above the Joshua trees and the piles of boulders that looked like they were put there by giants.

The breezeless silence was filled with hushed chatter that came from the other astronomers at the campsite. They were speaking amongst themselves like visitors in a cathedral. A buzzed excitement in anticipation of a ritual that happens only once in a human lifetime.

"I feel like I'm at church," I whispered to Autumn.

She giggled. "Yeah, it's kind of like going to church, huh? Except way cooler."

"Are you religious?" I asked.

"No," she answered. "But sometimes I wish I were. It'd be nice to be certain that there was something after, you know? What about you?"

"I went to church growing up."

"Do you believe in God?" she asked.

"Never saw him, so can't say he exists."

"Did you go to church a lot?"

"Every Sunday, pretty much. My parents forced me. What about you?"

Autumn shook her head. "Never. Well, ok, my dad took me when he was still with us, but I don't really remember much. I remember getting peanut butter cookies at Sunday School, and I remember thinking how creepy it was that Jesus loved me when he never met me."

I chuckled.

Autumn opened her mouth to say something else but was interrupted by a sudden, electrifying sound. From the boulders, there came a howl that was long and cold, followed by a series of yips. Autumn and I glanced at each other in wide-eyed shock. The howl was close. So close, you could feel it through your skin. Autumn's mouth hung open with amazement. I probably had the same funny expression on my face.

"That was a coyote!" She breathed excitedly. Her wide-open mouth turned into a wide smile.

"Whelp, time to zip her up," I replied, my fingers reaching frantically for the tent flap zipper.

She stopped me.

"It won't hurt us," she said.

"It's a predator," I answered.

"So are we."

"Won't stop it from thinking of us as potential food."

"Yeah, if it's desperate."

"Who's to say this one isn't desperate?"

"It didn't sound desperate."

"Really? Sounded pretty desperate to me. Sounded like it was yelling 'I'm starving! Someone better get in my belly right now!'"

Autumn snickered. "No, it wasn't! Sounded more like loneliness to me. Like he wanted to know if any of his friends were still around."

"Oh, it's a he now?"

"Yeah. Of course. It's Old Man Coyote."

Just then, the howl erupted again from the boulders. The wail held much longer this time and slowly tapered into silence.

The campsite was completely silent now. The human buzz had disappeared. The others must have been struck by the same nervous awe to know that a wild predator was nearby.

"Aww, see? He's lonely."

"I don't know how you can tell. Do you speak coyote?" I whispered.

"Let's find out. I'm going to answer him."

She cupped her hands together around her mouth. My eyes went wide.

"What are you... oh my God, please don't -"

But before I could finish, she inhaled a large breath and belted out a howl louder than I thought she could produce.

"AWOOOOOOooooooo!"

Her howl tapered away as she ran out of breath. Then she inhaled and let out another nerve-wracking howl. I plugged my ears. She watched me gleefully as she pushed the howl out her mouth, arching her back, pushing her chest out with her head sticking out of the tent, howling like a dog with its head out the car window. Howling at the stars.

"AWOOOoooOOOooo! Ow, Ow, Awoooooooooo!"

As she ended her howl, laughter and sporadic applause erupted throughout the campsite. I laughed and applauded too. Then, in a surprise that made us both jump, a howl came back from the boulders, where we heard the original howl. "Awooooooooooo!" It was the coyote responding to Autumn.

"What the!?" Autumn exclaimed.

We stared with open-mouthed shock at each other, then burst out laughing.

"That was so cool!"

"See? He's just lonely and just wanted to know that he's got friends around."

She grabbed my arm and said, "now it's your turn!"

I shook my head vehemently. "Nope! I can't!"

"Why not? Oh, please howl for me!" She urged, giggling, tugging on my arm.

The coyote let out another howl.

"See? He needs an answer."

I sighed. I grimaced. My face turned red as I realized, looking into Autumn's eyes, seeing that she wasn't going to let me get away with not howling.

"Oh God... here goes nothing."

Heart fluttering, I stuck my head out the tent flap. I looked to the stars, cupped my mouth as Autumn did, took in a long, deep breath, and let out a deep, long howl with as much power as my lungs could give me.

It felt good. It felt like an ice-cold plunge. It filled my chest with power. It made me feel (as corny as it might sound) like I was setting my soul aflame with courage.

"Awoooooooooooooooo!"

I let it out for as long as I could manage with my lungs. I stopped only when I was out of breath.

The coyote called back. "Awoooooooooooooo!"

As the coyote finished his howl, another howl came from across the campsite. A human howl. One of the other astronomers. When he finished, another astronomer howled from another part of the campsite. Pretty soon, howls filled the air, and Autumn and I laughed gleefully at the cacophony we had started. It probably dawned on the coyote that he wasn't talking to other coyotes but to a bunch of human astronomy nerds. I only hope he didn't think we were taunting him.

At that moment, I saw a shape move atop the boulder pile against the speckled backdrop of stars. I squinted my eyes, and I gasped as I saw that it was our coyote sitting on his haunches. It was Old Man Coyote. A graceful shadow against the black glow of night. He seemed to be looking up at the sky. I glanced up to see what it could be that caught his attention, and I jumped when I saw it: Right between the constellations Leo and Cancer, a glimmering star that isn't normally there. A green star. A jade in the sky.

"Autumn! Look!"

A cry of joy came from Autumn. She scrambled out of the tent to the telescope to peer through it.

"Oh my God, it's so bright!" She squealed.

I crawled over to her. She let me take a look. I held my breath as I peered through the telescope eyepiece. The first time I ever got to see a comet with my own eyes. And it looked just like I imagined it might. A bright halo of green surrounding a bright white sphere. A long cometary tail that stretched out sharply against the black-speckled space, like a streak of paint across a canvas.

"It must have a magnitude of, like, four or five or something! That's so awesome," she said.

I learned in class that celestial objects become visible to the naked eye at an apparent magnitude of approximately +6.5 on the apparent magnitude scale. The lower the number, the brighter the object was. The moon has an apparent magnitude of approximately -12, while the sun has an apparent magnitude of around -26. The brightest star, Sirius, had an apparent magnitude of about --1. This comet was about as bright as the average star in the sky, and to the untrained eye, it may look like nothing more than another star in the sky, albeit a little fatter and a little greener. Most people would likely guess that it was nothing more than another star. To the naked eye, there was nothing particularly spectacular about it, and to be completely honest, I've seen cooler things through the telescope. But to see the awe on Autumn's face now, this comet was, for me, the most important thing to ever cross the night sky.

"Should we make a wish?" I suggested.

"A wish?"

"You know. Wish upon a star. We gotta make a wish, right?"

"Yeah. I guess we do."

"Ok, then, let's wish for something."

"Ok."

Autumn reached out and grabbed my hand as if we were about to pray at dinner or perform a séance. We spent a silent minute making our wish though I already knew what I wanted to wish for, and I wished for it right away. I wished for Autumn to be cured of cancer.

She looked at me, smiled, and said, "made my wish. You?"

"Yep," I replied.

"Whaddya wish for?" She asked.

"I'm not going to tell you! That's bad luck."

"Oh, come on! Don't tell me you believe that BS."

"No, but still. Just in case."

"Haha, ok. Fair. I wasn't going to tell you mine anyways."

"No? Because it's bad luck?"

"No. Because I'm too embarrassed to."

After spending some more time peering through the telescope at the comet, Autumn replaced the eyepiece with her camera, and we spent another couple of hours snapping long exposure photos. The photos came out well. At around two in the morning, after finishing snapping photos and finally losing interest in the comet, we finally turned in for sleep.

Though I was exhausted. I couldn't get myself to fall asleep. My mind was still jittery with excitement about tonight like I had swigged a cup of coffee.

Autumn seemed to have the same problem. It was dark, but I knew that her eyes were open. When I turned my head to look at her, I saw in her eyes a wet silver shimmer of the moon, which had just started to rise and was bright enough to shine through the tent fabric.

"Still awake?" She whispered.

"Yeah. You?"

"No, I'm talking to you in my sleep."

I laughed.

"I'm too wired to sleep," I said.

"Me too."

"I'm happy we did this, by the way," I said. "Thanks for showing me the comet."

"Thank you for taking me to Joshua Tree, and --"

Her pause was long. She was hesitant about what she had to say next.

"What's up?"

"Thanks for being my friend."

"Thanks for being my friend, too," I replied. The shifting silver in her eyes indicated that she started to smile. I was smiling too. I was grinning so hard that my jaws hurt.

"Um, I've been meaning to tell you something else," Autumn said.

"What's that?"

"Remember that night when you tried to kiss me?"

I let out a soft groan. "Ugh, how could I forget?"

"I can't forget it either. I think about it a lot, in fact."

"Oh?" My voice came out nervously.

"Here's the truth. You didn't misread me that night. I am actually sort of into girls. And actually, um, I'm definitely into you. It's just that, I was afraid to kiss you because, well, I have this nasty thing called cancer.

"I don't think it's contagious."

"I'm saying it's hard for me to accept affection. It's not easy being me, but it's also not easy being close to me. I hate seeing what my mom has to go through. She sacrificed a lot for me. And maybe it'd all be for nothing. In fact, there's a very good chance it'd be all for nothing. There's a very good chance that I'll kick the bucket, you know? I don't want anyone getting close enough to me to suffer."

"There's also a very good chance you won't kick the bucket."

"You confuse me, Joey."

"What's so confusing?"

"Because you keep sticking around. Why do you keep sticking around?"

My response came so quickly and so easily that I surprised myself. "Because you make me feel good."

I heard a sharp exhale. She was lost for words. Or, perhaps, resisted saying what was on her mind. That pushed me to say something more.

"Well, it's true," I added assertively. "However hard you think your cancer makes my life, have you considered that maybe it's worth it? Yeah, I'd much prefer it if you didn't have cancer, but all the same, I like you. I like how you make me feel. And that kiss, or that sorry attempt at a kiss, felt like a good idea to me at the time, and I don't regret that I tried."