Welcome to Labrys, your student-run art and literature collective of Smith College.

So I work at the Starlight Diner and what I do there is I keep the stars bright. That and scrub toilets but the first line works better for picking up girls. The Starlight Diner is about as small as the Milky Way when you’re gazing at it from the hood of a ’98 Chevrolet. It’s cozy. But what it lacks in size it makes up for in glamor, because the floor is a replica of the moon’s surface based on photos from the 1969 moon landing, and the counter-tops are a deep dark blue just like those pockets of outer space you can almost see into- but the best part of all is that the ceiling is made out of this glass that looks like stars which hang all around you so that it doesn’t seem like there’s a ceiling at all really. When you come to eat at the Starlight Diner, you’re in the center of the galaxy, and you can see almost everything. What you can’t see is me, because I work the late shift when no-one else is around and that’s how I like it.

The Starlight doesn’t close until around two a.m. They start shutting down the fryolators at around one and at roughly two fifteen, when the last costumer is escorted to the door with a cup of hot-if-not-fresh coffee in hand, the stars begin to wink themselves out for the night. I like to watch all of this from the front seat of my Chevy, windows rolled down so that the warm desert air can blow all around me. I always wait until the very last star has flickered out and the very last set of headlights fades into the distance before I make my way in through the back. They leave the coffee and the radio on for me, and by the time I finish my third cup I’m almost halfway through the stars. I like to clean each one by hand.

I’m lost in a throwback no-commercial-break set of the oldies when a streak of light flies past the window and I almost fall off my ladder. Seconds later there’s a crash and the ground shakes. All around me the stars are knocking into one another and thankfully not breaking, but that crash spilled my coffee so I’m out the front door and into the parking lot before the last of that light fades, nostrils flaring, hair all on end. I look around but I can’t see anything, not a car, not a missing bumper, or hubcap in sight. My heartbeat is heading back to normal and I’m making a vain attempt to wipe coffee off my shirt when I spot something softly glowing on the ground next to the road. I walk over and bend to examine it, and I’ll be damned if it isn’t a meteorite.

I’m wondering if it’s too hot to pick up when a pair of headlights flash further on down the road. A car makes a slow approach, and I grab the small rock at my feet surprised to find that it’s warm, not hot when I shove it into my pocket. The lights get closer and the car turns into the Starlight lot. I hate telling people we’re closed mostly because I hate talking, but before I can clear my throat I realize I recognize the car. When the driver’s side door opens one of the late shift waitresses waves at me. Jessa, her name is Jessa, and I’m standing staring at her like she just fell from the sky. Delayed reaction I guess.

“I forgot my phone, glad you’re here- I would have felt a little weird letting myself in this late.” She laughs nervously, though I’m not sure why. I’m not intimidating, I don’t think, and especially not with my shirt covered in coffee stains and a dirty rag hanging out of my back pocket. “Sure,” I mutter. “come on in, I’ll help you look.”

She follows me back inside and the whole time I’m clutching the meteorite and feeling the warmth fading like a low hum. I want to make small talk with her, but the truth is, I’m just really bad at it.

“So,” she pauses right inside the front door. “This is what the diner looks like without the stars.”<br.> “Yeah, it’s pretty different.”
“Is it usually just you here all night? By yourself?” She keeps trying to meet my eyes, but I’ve got a tendency to blush even when I don’t mean it, so I stare more at the ground than anywhere else.
“Until five or so, yeah.”
“Do you mind?”
“I kind of prefer it.” Shit. That sounded rude.
“Oh, yeah, ok I’ll get out of your hair.”
“No, I mean, I meant, I, I get a lot of work done, by myself.”
“Ok.” She walks towards the kitchen. I’m left by the front door, letting in the moths and dust and wishing I knew how to say something, anything to anyone. I pull the meteorite out of my pocket and watch it catch the light from the street lamps.

“Hey, Samantha?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you turn on the lights in here? I can’t see anything.”
I cross to the kitchen, meteorite in hand and she must catch sight of it.
“What’s that?”
“Oh, um, a meteorite, I guess.”
“You guess?” She’s laughing.
“Yeah.”
“Where’d you get it? Wait, when I was driving over, I saw this streak of light and—”
“Yeah that was it. Scared me so much I almost fell off the ladder.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure.” I pass it off, and as she takes it her face lights up. I notice how her eyes aren’t just brown, they’re kind of golden, and her hair is falling in curls around her face, and she smells like Sandalwood I think. The diner is full of a soft silence, and it’s only around four so I still have another hour to finish cleaning everything before morning crew gets in.

“Um, I prefer Sam, actually.”
“Look at this. This is amazing do you have any idea how many people are lucky enough to, to catch these?”
“I didn’t catch it.”
“You know what I mean, you got it, you found it, after it fell.”
“Just lucky, I guess.”
“Yeah. Lucky.” She looks up, catches my eyes and I can’t look away. So instead I reach behind me and turn on the lights to the kitchen. “Your phone?”

We look together for a little while and after about five minutes of searching it’s clear her phone is somewhere else. I ask her if she wants to leave her number so I can try calling it a few times while I’m finishing up, in case it fell somewhere we didn’t check. She writes her number down and then we just kind of stand around for a minute or so.

“You know, my grandpa really loved outer space. The stars and the Milky Way and everything. He was really thrilled when I got my job here.”
“You’ve worked here for, for five years now, right?”
“Yeah. Five years. You pay attention.”
“I, I notice a lot.”
“So he used to tell me these stories, about shooting stars and meteors—”
“Yeah, like what?”
“Just about wishing mostly. When I was a kid we used to sit outside together, all night just watching the stars, searching the heavens for streaks of light. Shooting stars are great for wishing, meteors are even better, and if you ever catch a piece of the universe, then you’ve got to hang on to it, tight, and make the biggest wish you ever dreamt because it’s going to come true.”
“He sounds great.”
“He was. He died in April.”
“I’m sorry. I’m, I’m really sorry. You can keep it. If you want to.”

“I couldn’t.” She presses the meteor back into my hand and it’s cool and hard but it’s still humming kind of softly and I wonder if she can hear it. “I mean, that’s sweet though.” She starts to walk back towards the front door. I turn off the lights to the kitchen, and she stops in a pool of streetlight pouring in from the window. “If you were going to make a wish, any wish, if you were going to wish on that meteorite, what would you wish for?”
“I don’t know. I’m pretty happy.”
“I know what I’d wish for. When I was a kid, I used to wish I could see the whole world, every inch. I still want that. Working here is the closest I can get. I look up at these stars and I get lost in them, lost in imagining.”
“It’s kind of like we’re in the center of the galaxy. We can see everything.”
“Yeah. Yeah that’s exactly it.”
“I can turn them on?”
“No. No, let’s, can we go outside actually? I just want to stare at the sky. All night I just want to look up. Do you have a lot to do, do you-”
“Nothing that can’t wait I guess.” Another moment of silence and when she moves again I follow her outside into the night and summer air.

“Look at them all.” She’s lost in the stars only this time they’re not glass they’re real and further away than anything. I can feel her though. She’s so close now I can feel the warmth coming off of her skin.

“What happens, if you don’t make a wish, what happens?”
“I guess, I guess it just fades away.” She’s still staring up at the sky, but I can’t take my eyes off of her. “I mean, like anything else, after time. It dies.”
“Then, then I better not waste it, huh?”
“You better not.”
“It’s a nicer view over here.” I gesture to the hood of my Chevy. “And we can, uh, we can sit.” “That sounds great.” She’s looking at me now, finally she’s looking at me and I’m not looking away. Cause the truth is we’re all just a part of the universe, the Milky Way, and all of those stars real or glass. The truth is that there’s nothing better than being alone in the desert and feeling the warm summer wind on your skin, except for maybe having somebody sitting right next to you. The truth is I prefer stale coffee to fresh, and secrets to truths, and briefs to boxers. I prefer the crooners to the swooners, and that moment right before dawn to that moment right before the sun sets. There are very few things that I know for certain- but after tonight I know a little more than I used to. I can smell the desert in her hair. And when she calls me Sam it feels right, it feels better than Samantha ever did. And when she takes my hand, I let her.