Present Tense

She makes them laugh, as always.

The sound of their happiness carries from the kitchen and dissolves over the still driveway as she slips out quietly through the front door. Preoccupied, she hardly notices the weight of dusk surrounding her. The stars above serenade her with their splatters of light while the crescent moon smiles upon her down turned head. Her face remains set on her car as she flip flops across the cement, and she ignores the summer night sky's cartographic display.

She slides in the driver's seat, slips the key in the ignition, and pauses. The windshield receives her blank stare as she sighs. She shakes off the moment and turns the key. The four-cylinder murmur reaches her unhearing ears as the honeyed humidity forces her to roll down the windows. Ah, the poor man's convertible is once again created from her coup.

She heads down the road and turns on the music. Coldplay. Exactly what she needs. The wind fills the car and mingles with the strokes of the strings. Her pulse rises with each swell. Her brunette locks with tickles of blond summer highlights fly freely as she twists the knob for more volume. She is lost in the music. It dissolves her thoughts, her words, her senses.

She turns into her neighborhood and the gusts die down. She suddenly becomes aware of the music and how contrary it is to the quiet calm of the suburbs. She spins it down, but the magic is not lost. The song comes to an end as she bumps over the gutter and into her slot on the driveway. The engine sleeps with the exit of the key, and the lights blink off. She steps out and stands, regaining her sense of existence. She walks to the house, glancing up to check if any lights were still on inside. Her green eyes find the window, but refuse to linger. They shoot up towards the heavens and she finally sees that which has been above her as she drove the streets.

She has always been in love with the night sky. Nothing else can make her feel as purposeful, as significant, as humbly important as the stars, moon, and infinite dark beyond. But lately, the realities and necessities and tendencies of life have distracted her from her first love. They haven't met in quite some time.

But now, they have reunited. She forgets to breathe, forgets to blink. Her thirsty eyes take in the sight she has neglected far too long, recognizing the familiar pattens. She is silent, for she is listening. And what she hears gives her hope.

"You are my daughter. You are imperfect; you are sinful; you get things wrong. But you are my daughter, and I love you."

"Help me." She says simply. She does not beg, but says this with the strength of faith, learning once again she is needy and poor, yet has the deepest resource, the richest kindness, standing wide open to her.

She walks into the house and rests in peace.