“It’s so cold,” a voice came in his ear, so soft it might have been his own thought. A small, very cold hand plopped on top of his. Not moving, not curling its fingers around his, just lying there as though it had fallen from the sky. He could feel her ring, the slender band of gold like a chip of ice against his knuckle. Glancing sideways he saw the girl gazing at the dome, her mouth slightly open. She turned and looked at
Afterward Trip recalled that moment and knew it for the one in which his life was cleaved in two. Sitting there in the make-believe night, with make-believe peepers crying and make-believe stars, and the warm sweet dusty scent of the girl beside him with her face upturned. The Zeiss whirred and spun. Stars washed across her cheeks as the astronomer spoke their names. Algol in Perseus, Regulus in Leo, the winter sky tumbling into spring and Corona Borealis rising to shine upon her brow with such brilliance that he had to look away. When he glanced up again she was staring at him. The pixie light gave a strange luster to her skin, as though it were made of some brittle nacreous material that would splinter into dust if he were to touch it. But all he wanted to
“…
The blond girl’s eyes were wide but without expression. Her arm still lay upon the velvet seat rest. As the projected stars crept across the dome her eyes would hold their light and for an instant seem to candle with passion or curiosity. Gazing at her Trip felt gooseflesh break out on his arms and the back of his neck.
“Who are you really?” he whispered. But then the dome grew pale, the lights came up, and he was blinking painfully. “Oh,” he said, neither disappointed nor relieved, just confused. “I guess it’s over.”
“I want to see it again.”
Trip laughed, thinking she was joking, and started to reach for her raincoat.
“Really,” the girl said. “I want to see it again. Can we stay?”
Trip looked around, shaking his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, yeah, we can see it again. If you really want to. But we’ll have to get tickets…”
He waited for her to say
He stared at her. “Okay.” His throat was so dry it hurt to speak. “If you want.”
“I do,” she murmured, smiling; and he knew he was doomed.