The Bright Star

                                            The Bright Star

The thunder clapped and the wind whistled through the pines. Everything was drenched in shades of black.  The rain poured down, drumming on the rooftops and the window panes. The odor of the wet leaves and soil filled the air.

The dim, yellow light glowed on George Tylor's face making the tears that he held back in his black eyes glitter like fireflies in the dark. His tall figure cast a dark shadow on the wooden floor. His head was bent and his back erect as he stood in the middle of the room thinking about her. The image of her face flashed across his mind.She smiled at him, then called his name. Her innocent eyes and adoring smile meant the world to him.

The deafening sound of thunder shook George out of his train of thought and he smiled. It was no ordinary night; it was Meg's night. He moved towards his wardrobe to get ready just for her.

George's long, slim fingers ran over the row of jackets and coats that hung in his closet. He knew that he had to look his best for her. He took out a grey suit, then dismissed it. Much too morbid for the occasion. As he ran his eyes over the rest of the clothes, his gaze fell on a black suit. He had worn it for their first wedding anniversary, when she had lain her head on his shoulder and spoken of their future together. He could almost see her soft, chestnut hair against the dark cloth.

George pulled out the silk tie she had given him for his last birthday, and stroked it. How smooth and soft it felt between his fingers! The muted gold shade reminded him of the desert sand. He recalled her saying that it complimented his complexion.

George glanced at the clock and realised it was time to get dressed. He disappeared inside the changing room. When he appeared, the fragrance of a musky cologne permeated the air.  His shoes thudded softly against the wooden floor as he walked towards the mirror to adjust his tie. George looked at the comb lying on the dresser. But, before he could pick it up, he remembered that she liked his hair a little mussed. So he left it that way. After a final perusal of his reflection, George felt certain that she would approve his appearance. He left the room.

Downstairs, in the lounge, the flames in the fireplace illuminated the room. He picked up the bouquet of roses wrapped in a plastic sheet to tie it with a red ribbon. Then he raised them to his nose and drank in their sweet fragrance. George peeked out the window to find that the storm had subsided and the rain had become a slow drizzle.

His hand was on the doorknob when his eyes fell on the photo frame on the mantelpiece. Meg was smiling at him and looked very content. With her face in his head, he left the house.

A cool breeze greeted him, parting the damp leaves to cut a path on the road. George sped up, his head ducked down, and soon reached the old, rustic gates. He found them swung wide open. It seemed that she was waiting for his arrival.

The clouds had drifted away and the full moon appeared as a golden coin suspended against the black, velvety backdrop.

With the bouquet in his hands he took small steps towards her and stood there just staring— staring at her name written on the concrete tombstone. He placed the flowers gently on the wet grass to trace her carved name with his fingers. In a quivering voice he shouted, “Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday, my love!”

A single tear began its vertical descent on George's cheek to splash into a puddle at his feet. The ripples generated by that one teardrop roused his attention. George caught the reflection of the full moon and raised his head toward the heavens.

The sky was blanketed with stars, as if God had collected all the diamonds in the world and scattered them against a black canopy. But one star glowed with intensity-- brighter than the rest. George simply smiled up at it. In that moment he knew that Meg was watching over him.