Written in the Ceiling Stars

"Nighthawks" by Edward Hopper

Author's Note

For clicking on the link to my blog to read this, here's a little "reward" for you. I was having trouble thinking of how to start this story, and then one of my favorite songs started playing while I was thinking. Funnily enough, it's titled Miss Atomic Bomb, and it's by The Killers*. Like I said, it's one of my favorite songs. So if you want to listen to it while reading this, it might help. Also, another song that also inspired this writing is Sometime Around Midnight by The Airborne Toxic Event.
*I wrote that part before I changed the title to what it is now.

The days had started to blur together for me, one melding with another. It had been years, decades, since I'd seen her.

Her.

I never knew her name; she wouldn't tell me. Every night we'd had met, she'd given me a new name to call her. After her disappearance, and she wasn't around to give me a new name to call her, so I decided to make up one myself. Miss Atomic Bomb. I call her that because that's how she made me feel every night I saw her.

It had started with my buddies convincing me to go out with them that night. I had never been much of a party boy, or went to many bars. "Come out with us, Johnny," they'd plead, "We need you to be our wingman." I'd give in sometimes, but I'd usually be the one who'd have to spend the night with the girl that the other guys didn't want, and I'd hate to leave the girl feeling unwanted, but I didn't want to lead her on either. She was someone's daughter, and she deserved to be treated with respect. After a few times of this happening, I refused to go out with the guys for a few months. I was deaf to their begging.

That was until the night of July 21.

Little did I know that that night would change my life forever. I'd started to grow tired of them still asking, and frankly, I was surprised they were still asking, but I guess they just really needed that guy who would keep the ugly friend entertained. I agreed to go with them, and at around 7:00 PM, we set out to the local bar that didn't really check IDs to see if you were legal or not. They would serve you, as long as you paid. And it's not like the place would be shut down anytime soon; there were at least two off duty cops there per night, and sometimes even one or two who were supposed to be on duty. We showed up before it could grow crowded, and waited patiently for the little clumped groups of girls to show up. They never showed up by themselves. As the bar began to fill up, my friends rated outfits on how much skin was showing and teased each other about the girls who had drawn their eye. That's when she decided to walk in. She was alone, immediately drawing my eye. And it wasn't a subtle reaction from me. It was enough for Toby and Jack to notice, and they weren't the sharpest toothpicks in the jar. I hate to sound really cliche, but it's almost like time seemed to come to a halt. An elbow to the side from Toby brought me back to reality, and I turned to him, a bit agitated. His expression looked like he was expecting something from me, but I had no idea what he'd said. So I just shrugged and gave a noncommittal grunt, which seemed to please him. Turning back to Jack, they began to discuss something, probably which beer was better or which girl would put out for them that night, which allowed me to return to watching the newcomer, but with more subtlety than before.
She was taking in the bar from the front walkway, her sharp eyes watching everything and everyone. She was surveying every person, and when her gaze skipped to me, I thought it lingered on me for a moment longer than it should have. She stepped inside, and began to make her way to the bar. I quickly surveyed the bar stools and came to the happy realization that the only open one was the one on my right, and if she wanted to sit, she'd have to sit beside me.
I didn't look up, but the sudden scent of perfume alerted me that what I had hoped for had happened. I inhale deeply; the perfume had both a fresh and feminine smell to it at the same time. I get a strange feeling that she's watching me, and I slowly raise my baby blues to meet her stormy greens. She smirks, glad that she's captured my attention. Little did she know that she's had it for much longer than now.
"C-Can I help you?" I stutter, and kick myself for stumbling over my words.
"You can." She doesn't even seem to notice it and casts a gaze to large array of bottles on the mirrored wall in front of us, surveying the labels on the variety of bottles. "What's good to drink here?" she asks.
I hold up the bottle that was sitting in front of me on the counter, and show her the label. The bottle had left a ring of moisture on the counter, and I focus intently on placing the bottle exactly in the same spot as the ring while the stranger orders a drink from the bartender. A few more quiet moments pass as I continue to stare intently at the label on the bottle, reading the ingredients and tracing the patterns with my eyes. Before long, though, I feel her emerald eyes on me again, and I glance up to find her watching me watch the bottle. Clearing my throat, I feel obligated to ask her something, and, being the smooth talker that I am, I ask her, "So how you get here?"
She blinks in confusion, and tilts her head to the side like a puppy. I almost excuse myself to go cry in the bathroom, but instead clear my throat again and raise my voice to an unnatural pitch. "Where are you from?"
She shrugs. "Who knows?" was her shady response, and if anyone else had answered that way, I wouldn't have kept talking to them. Since it came from her, though, it was all the more intriguing and mysterious. "You?"
"I'm from here," I say, glad that I can start to form normal sentences again, and she replies with a slight smile that says that she already knew that; she was just being polite.
The rest of the night, we ask each other typical questions that you would ask someone you're just getting to know. You know, like how old they are, who they were raised under, what do they want to be when they grow up. Stuff like that. We spent so much time talking I didn't realize how late it was until Toby nudged me with a rough hand, telling me it was time to go. The bar had almost emptied out. She glanced up at Toby, before smiling softly and removing herself from the bar stool.
"I suppose I should be going as well," she murmurs. "Will you be back here later?" she directs this question at me, tilting her head again in that adorably curious manner she had.
I shrug nonchalantly, trying to seem uninterested. "Perhaps. Will you?"
She smirks again, and winks at Toby before sauntering out of the bar, keeping my eyes on her the entire time. Toby lets out a guffaw that draws the attention of those still conscious in the bar.
"You could not have been more obvious, Johnny boy," he laughs, and I blush furiously.
"C'mon, man, let's go," I mutter, keeping my head down and leading the drunk Toby, who is still laughing, out of the bar and to his car.

This continues for the next three weeks. I went to the bar every evening that I could after that night. Some nights she would show up, and others I would wait hours before having to give up and return home. We learned more and more about each other those following weeks, but one thing remained constant: she refused to tell me her real name, no matter how hard I pressured her for it. Looking back now, I suppose she's grateful for that, as I can't track her down and find her or even know if she's still alive. For all I know now, she could be dead or living in some nudist colony.

The night before she left was the best of them all, though. It was just...perfect. And I'm not one who believes in perfection much. Everyone and everything is flawed in some way. But that night, nothing went wrong. We met at the bar, but she didn't sit down. "C'mon, you're coming with me," she grabbed my hand, a devilish grin lighting up her face and making her gorgeous eyes glint. She led me out of the bar at a fast pace, pushing past sweaty bodies, almost running out of the dimly lit building. I barely noticed this part, though, because she was holding my hand. Once we were outside, though, she let go of it, to my displeasure. But she was still walking quickly, almost sprinting. I had to really work at stretching my legs out to keep up with her. "Where are we going?" I ask her. She doesn't reply, just glances at me out of the corner of her eye with a sly grin.
We walk for what seems like hours, but was probably only 30 minutes, to the edges of the town. Glancing around, I notice most of these buildings are decrepit and old, barely held together by their rotting beams and crumbling bricks.
"In here," she motions towards a small entrance between two of these buildings, the one where it led to had a large bay window in the front with the name painted in it in fancy lettering, but it's now faded and peeling, long forgotten and abandoned. Or not, I thought, as I entered and blinked a few times, letting my eyes adjust to the sudden darkness. I panicked for a moment and thought this is where I die, she was secretly a murderer this whole time and I was her victim, but she comes in after me and flicks a switch nearby and the small hum of a generator kicking into gear comes from the next room, and I see a blanket in the middle of the floor, surrounded by little candles and a picnic basket. I turn to her for answers, and I see that she's the one blushing now.
"I know it's not a field and you can't really see the stars, but it's the best I could do," she smiles sheepishly, and moves to flick another switch. The light went out, but other lights turned on. These ones were less bright, and as I looked up, I saw little lights in the patterns of the constellations decorating the high ceiling. I gasp slightly, and she lets out a little squeal. "Oh, good, you like it." Her smile is broad as she takes my hand again and leads me over to the blanket. She lights a match and lights the candles, shedding more light in the darkness. But honestly, I was fine with the darkness as it was.
She moves to unpack the basket, removing chips, sandwiches, two bottles of the beer that we'd had the first night we met, and two small pieces of cake. Handing part of the food to me, she kept the other half. As we ate peacefully, talking wasn't necessary. And surprisingly, the silence wasn't overbearing as it usually is between people; it was nice.
After I'd finished eating, I decided to lie back and take in the lights that she had taken the time to stick up on the ceiling of this abandoned building. It was almost similar to that popular phrase about not judging books by their covers; this building was ugly on the outside, but it's what was inside that made it beautiful. I snickered to myself at this thought, which brought forth a questioning look from Penny. I just smiled at her, and reached for her hand again. She slid her slim one into my rough one, and gave a quick squeeze, before laying down beside me. "I'm sorry they aren't the real ones," she whispered to me. I smiled, and squeezed her hand.
We talked for what seemed like ages after that. I'm not sure how many hours passed. It could've been days or even weeks, and I would've have noticed. Except for maybe some hunger pains, but it seemed like this is where she had been living for awhile.
The time finally came when I realized I should've been home hours ago, and my parents would probably be up and wondering where I am. Much to my displeasure I had to excuse myself to go home, but I promised to meet her back at the bar tonight. The hours between then seemed to drag on forever, though, and not in the good way that they had the previous night with her.
Finally, I was released to go about my business, and I took off faster than a bullet on my motorcycle, but had to slow as I neared town. Finding a good place to park, I entered the bar and sat in my usual spot, and anxiously awaited her arrival for hours. I tried to predict the name she'd give me to pass the time, but the hands on the clock ticked past the hour she usually arrived, and on into the next. That was peculiar, but she had been late before. I didn't think twice about it as I started doodling on the napkin provided by the bartender, drawing little stars over and over again. I didn't glance up at the clock again until the napkin was filled with stars, both front and back, and in between the folds. I didn't realize another hour had passed and she still hadn't shown. Maybe she was sleeping or something. I exit the bar and debate between driving my bike there or just walking, and, after a quick coin toss, walking wins out. It's a very fast paced walk, though, and I'm sure I look like I'm on something or possibly drunk to passersby. Reaching the row of buildings she'd taken me to last night, I stand outside for a moment, trying to peer into the windows to see if I can see her. I didn't see her, but another peculiar sight met my eyes and I quickly enter the building, pushing aside trash and cardboard until I'm standing in the room from last night. Scrambling on the walls for the light switch, I stand blinking in the sudden brightness, scanning the now completely empty room. What had been there the night before was no longer there. Panicking, I scurry around the rest of the building looking for her, any sign that she was still here. I arrive back in the main room with nothing. Falling to my knees back in the room I started in, I notice something I didn't before in my frenzied search. A piece of folded paper that I would've mistaken for trash had it not been dirtied from dust yet. Picking it up with surprising delicacy, I unfold it to reveal a small note scribbled on the inside.

My dearest Johnny,

I'm so terribly sorry for leaving. I know this won't excuse my actions, but it's better than leaving you without anything. I'm sure you've already realized this, but I've left. You may not like it or want to admit it to yourself, but it's the truth. My actions are, and were, inexcusable, and I don't blame you if you don't wish to forgive me or see me again. However, if you do find it in your caring heart to do so, it will only remain to your knowledge. You see, my Johnny, I will not be returning. I cannot be with you. I'm sorry I couldn't say this in person, I feel horrible for only leaving you this, but I did not want to be convinced to stay for something that is unhealthy for me. And I know you and your silver tongue would've kept me here forever, and I would be happy. But I am not a happy person. I am truly sorry, Johnny. I hope that someday you find someone more worthy of your time and love than me. Yes, I know you love me. I could see it in your eyes, hear it in your breath, sense it in your touch. And I love you too, though I'm not sure if my feelings were as obvious. But we cannot be together, to my deepest regrets. Please stay safe. And don't forget me. 

All my love

I had to read the letter over five times before it sank in. She was gone. Absentmindedly, I traced over the larger letters at the end, "All my love." She'd known before I'd figured it out that I loved her, and she was right; I did. But she was not right in saying that we were not good for each other. What kind of crap was that? I stand up and start to pace the room, muttering angrily. Tightening my fist in frustration, I wind up and punch the nearest wall with more strength than I thought I was capable of. I must've hit something important, though, as the lights flickered, gave a groan, and then died. I glanced up at the ceiling and saw the little lights in the stars were still there, but this time, there was a message written in them. Squinting, I make out that three lettered phrase, and almost break down crying right there. I sink back to my knees and my head falls onto my chest in defeat. She's gone. I can't bring her back. And the worst part?

She left with my heart.