find a roof to stargaze upon

My love for stargazing started in high school. Junior year to be exact. On the roof of Traci’s house to be even more exact. One night there was a massive party at her house. It was her 16th birthday. Not an inch of space was left uncovered by high school and college kids, beer cans and cigarette butts. Up until then, Traci and I shared 3 main things: Mr. Saw’s alegebra II class, the girls’ JV volleyball team and common friends like Steph. That night came the 4th: her roof and the peace it gave in moments like that night, moments of pandemonium. We stumbled into each other while the party was kicking into its full 1 AM gear. She was intoxicated by a man named Jose Cuervo. I was delirious from a gentleman named Jack Daniels. After a conversation with our eyes that screamed “SPACE. PLEASE. NOW,” we staggered upward in our haze until there was no more up only out…a small window that opened to her roof. Once there, we sprawled out. Exasperated. I don’t know how long we laid there for. I just remember there was a feeling of instant gratification. Somehow the sense of stars so small and distant hit me as to how much more there was in the world and in my life than SATs, a girlfriend I loved entirely who I could start to feel felt differently about me and a home that seemed more like homelessness. Being drunk and being rushed by this immediate sense of relief, I couldn’t make out if what I was experiencing was real or just a dream. But then Traci reached for my hand and held it in a manner that reminded me this was, in fact, very real. We eventually went back to the madness that was the party, the madness that was each of our lives. But that time spent on the roof remained with me and has even saved me on a couple occasions by reminding me that there is no despair big enough to eliminate hope.