I’d overheard Clark talking to someone in the newsroom about the Perseid meteor shower and thought I’d offer to drive him out of the city to see it, as he’d never be able to get out here without a car. Which is why I am now finding myself on a dark country road, an hour's drive from Metropolis, staring up at the vast expanse of sky. There are more stars than I’ve ever seen in my life, but I haven’t seen a meteor yet.
I’m about to object when I hear Clark exclaim in delight as he sees something. When he realizes I’m not looking in the right direction, he steps behind me, his arm outstretched, pointing towards a vague area in the sky.
But I’m not paying attention.
As he turns me to face the right direction, the palm of his hand on my hip to guide me, his thumb slips under my waist-length t-shirt and is resting on my skin, just above the waistband of my jeans, where the rest of his hand remains. I answer a few general ‘uh-huh’s’ to his explanations of the constellations, too distracted by the gentle movements of his thumb. My heart is pounding in my ears, my knees feel weak and I’m suddenly very aware that I want the rest of his hand to join his thumb.
There it is! I saw one! The briefest flash of light streaking across the sky. Had we not been standing out in a field on this warm August night intentionally looking for the meteors I would never have seen it; certainly not under the bright city lights. I gasp in glee as more follow, wondering if this was the lottery for wishing on a shooting star tonight.
As Clark removes his hand from my waist I regret not wishing on every shooting star I just saw that we could stay just as we were a while longer. I follow his outstretched arm as he points out a satellite lazily making its way across the sky, and identifies Mars in the sky, but his other hand stubbornly remains by his side.
I’m not paying attention anymore, distracted by thoughts of how much I miss that brief contact and trying not to analyze why. Here under the stars, alone with Clark Kent, the distractions of work and the city, my commitment to my career, the cable bill that I forgot to pay, fade away and I realize I’d rather be standing in a field, surrounded by bugs and other creatures I’d rather not think of, staring at the stars with him, than anywhere else.
****
My initial plan had been to fly further north where city lights wouldn’t impede the meteor display, as I had done in years past. That had vanished without regret the moment Lois had expressed interest in seeing the Perseids. I’d scouted out a perfect spot earlier in the day, far enough from the light pollution, but close enough for it to be a reasonable drive. We’d left Metropolis shortly before midnight; Lois fueled with coffee, and me, with an eager anticipation of a pleasant evening under the stars.
My vision helps me see more stars and meteors than Lois could, but after spotting a few that she should have been able to see, I realize she’s not looking in the right direction. I point, and help direct her line of sight by placing my hand on her hip and adjusting her view. What I hadn’t anticipated was the height of her jeans, just obscured by the hem of her t-shirt. My thumb grazed her skin but I was already committed to guiding her view of the sky. I could hardly remove my hand without the moment becoming awkward. I heard her gasp and her heartbeat quicken, and as I focused on not fumbling over my words at the sudden intimacy of the moment I failed to control the urge to gently caress her skin with my thumb.
She gasps in delight as she spots her first meteor, and again as more shoot overhead. I glance down at her face, memorizing her enthralled, unguarded expression. Breaking the intensity of the moment, I step back, removing my hand from her waist, and point out a few more details of the night sky.
She’s listening, but I can tell she’s not focused anymore. I worry that my unintentional caress has crossed the ever changing line between us, yet find a seed of hope growing in my heart that out here, in the middle of nowhere, under the magic of the stars, perhaps she has discovered something too. We stay a while longer before I suggest we head back to the Jeep, concerned she’s tired or cold. I can see the flash of disappointment that’s quickly covered up by a smile as I gently place an arm around her for the short walk to where we parked. I feel goosebumps under my palm and apologize for keeping her out in the cooling August night.
“I’m not cold,” she replies in a whisper as she wraps an arm around my waist, and I allow my heart to soar up to the stars at the implications of her statement. I hold her a little tighter and take my chances.
“The Perseids will peak in the next few days. We could come back with a picnic, have a very late dinner under the stars?”
“What if it rains?” she asks with a grin.
“We can bring umbrellas.”
“Or have dinner in Metropolis,” she counters.
I laugh. “Sure. Dinner, location to be determined.”
As we arrive at the Jeep, a few brighter Perseids streak brightly across the sky. “Make a wish,” I say as Lois unlocks the doors.
She climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the car before answering. “I think mine’s already been answered. I’ll save that shooting star for someone else.”
****
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