The sun, the moon and the stars

*Author’s note: This is a piece of fiction and it’s only as true as you believe it to be*

In my life I have loved three people. Well, that’s untrue. I have loved countless people as friends, teachers, parents; I loved every single kid in my summer camp cabin. I love my paternal family and my found family fiercely. And I understand this love. I give it abundantly if not freely and in return I receive a lot back. Probably more than I know. But what I meant to say was that I have only been in love romantically with three people in my life. 

The first time I fell in love I was fourteen and she was the Sun. I was a freshman in high school before I realized it although looking back on it now, it seems clear that the infatuation started in seventh grade. That’s always how it is, right? Hindsight’s 20/20 and all that. Of course at that age I had contemplated the idea of love before, and of course I knew about sex, although not through any first hand experience. Sun rode horses at the same barn as me. In seventh grade I learned that she was dressing up as a banana for halloween. That immediately became my favorite halloween costume I had ever heard. In October of eight grade I could’t get Sun’s white-blonde hair out of my head. I put it down to envy, I imaged running my hands through it and how soft it must be. Of course it wan’t envy, it was the beginnings of something far bigger and scarier. In January, I learned Sun’s parents were from the UK, something I found inanely attractive. In May, I noticed how piercingly blue Sun’s eyes were.

Freshman year of high school Sun and I had earth science class together. And in the middle of learning the difference between igneous and sedimentary rock, I found myself staring at Sun’s nose. And thinking I wonder what it would be like to kiss someone with a nose like that. And then, vividly, in my head I wonder what it would be like to kiss Sun. And then, just as clearly, Well, I’m probably not straight then. 

The summer after freshman year I worked part time on an organic farm and, amongst the dirt and potatoes I met Clarice, a gay transgender woman and Jillian, a cisgender pansexual woman. Although I had met a few queer identifying teenagers, I had never met an openly queer adult, let alone a non-cisgender one. Jillian was the first person I came out to and with their support I became comfortable in my queer identity. I discovered I was pansexual, for the moment and I slowly became more confident. The plants I grew flourished and with them, my self-worth. I felt strong, sun kissed and newly sexual.

Sun and I had biology together sophomore year. This time, I leaned in when I talked to her. This time I recited broken Shakespeare to her and I told her I loved her. And even though I knew it was true we both laughed like it was a joke.

December of my sophomore year we both went to the birthday party of a mutual friend. Sun laughed as we played Dance Dance Revolution and that game with the guitar and pushing buttons and I swear on any sacred symbol that the sun came out of her laugh. We shared a twin mattress and before we were asleep I turned over, and found her staring into my eyes. 

I looked her back in the eyes and started leaning towards her. 

She leaned back and giggled. “Monya, stop it! I’m trying to go to sleep.”

Junior year Sun and I fell out of touch. And I fell out of love. Slowly and painfully, I forgot her. There was less time to think about her with my three extra curriculum, two volunteer positions and my part time nanny gig. I decided to go away to college early and as adulthood loomed, the Sun was shaded by the possibilities of my future.

Moon was British and glamorously older to my seventeen year-old eyes. He was nineteen and about to go to Oxford University. I was about to go to my own college and my whole life stretched before me in long, hot summer days. I met him July third on a weekend both where our parents had dragged us (not unwillingly). Together with the rest of the gang of teenagers that ended up there, we swam and ate and talked angrily about queer rights. We stayed out of the way of the children and grown ups. We owned the in-between places. We played among the weeds and on the beach and on the boat and in the water and piled into the hot tub together as the cool of evening fell. 

Moon was bisexual, had an upper class British accent, liked hot dogs, disliked British parliment, and liked women who didn’t shave their armpits and angrily shouted their opinions. Or at least, Moon liked me. 

The night fell and we made a fire. The moon was the biggest and brightest I had ever seen. The games and jokes and stories got raunchier. I thought, or at least I hoped that some of his jokes were directed at me. We fed each other s’mores and then, one by one the rest of the gang went to bed. We were all staying in the same tent. I have no idea how the grown ups let that one slip by but eventually Moon and I were the only two left sitting up by the fire. We talked and I thought about kissing him and I didn’t but we kept talking. Maybe hours passed, and maybe it was only minutes but when we kissed the only thing I could see was the light of his pale eyes.

Moon and I didn’t get a proper goodbye under the watchful eyes of our parents. He went back to England. I knew I would never see him again, other than as a post on my Facebook feed. The entire car ride home I listened to the song ‘This Too Shall Pass’ on repeat. Nearly one hundred times. And in time, Moon faded away too.

Stars I met in April, of last year. My sophomore year of college. Stars and I were at an all weekend contra dance. Stars is twenty six. Stars contra dances in New York City, and is the friend of a friend. Stars calls in New York city and does English Country dancing and traditional Israeli dance. Stars is polyamorous. So am I. Stars is an employed and brilliant computer engineer. I am not. Stars is confident and enjoyed the flirting I aimed at her without subtlety but with plenty of passion. I batted my glittery eyelids and thought about what that glitter would look like rubbed of on Star's own delicate face. 

The night that I met her I wanted to kiss her. I told her so. Stars said I was too young for her. I told her age was just a number. Stars told me she hoped I would call her in a year. I see Stars scattered throughout my year and my now roving life. Mostly at contra dances I go to when I visit New York City. Sometimes at other dances and sometimes through our mutual friend. Every time I see her, Stars dances with me. And insists that I am too young for her to kiss. Every time I see her I insist that I am old enough. And pretty enough. And charming enough. Not that this is heathy, to pine for the Stars. I know she's up in the sky and that's pretty far away from where I'm standing on earth. But I'd like to get close enough to see the constellations some day.