Finding North Star,Bracha Goykadosh

Black velvet sky, etched with midnight's purple wrinkles; night has come, but still silver twinkles. White, gleaming moon stared back at me inquisitively as the world breathed. The boardwalk scratched my feet as I leaned against the rail, staring into the lake. Crickets chirped, leaves rustled, and the wind sang.

I waltzed slowly with the Past, almost retracing my steps, and tangoed wildly with the Future. Somehow, I always managed to sidestep the Present. Somehow, I always managed to twirl carelessly away when he shyly put out his hand for a dance.

"Tzippora, where are you?"

"I'm here," I called. "By the lake." I could hear him following my voice and seethe shadow of a boy, the mere outline of life, step by step growing into a tall man. He saw me, but he didn't come close. He stood away, breathing in the scene. He ran his finger around the rim of his black hat and shifted slightly. Then, he took a step forward.

"Everyone's waiting. For us. Why are you here?"

I shivered.

He looked off into the distance, and I wondered if he saw the stars dancing around the moon to the wind's song.

"Are you avoiding me?" he said in a low voice. I looked at him. So tall and broad, his black eyes burning holes in me, his big, tan hands rubbing circularly against each other as he took a deep breath. When did we grow up?

"Ariit's not you," I said, staring deep into the water.

"So. What is it?"

"It's nothing," I said. "Just nothing. Let's go back," I smiled at him and started to walk, my back turned away from the scene.

"No." He wasn't smiling back. "I need to know what's going on. In your head, Tzippora. You can't be so closed."

"I'm not closed." I thought that we wouldn't have to talk all the time. We knew each other. Ari was supposed to know me.

"So. Why won't you tell me? What's wrong?" He smiled feebly. "Is it customary for girls to leave their own vorts?"

"I don't know." Suddenly, an entire war was raging in my heart. Soldiers thumped against my chest as screams rose silently from my throat.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means something."

"What? Are you going to tell me?"

I walked back to the warm rail and placed my elbows on it, my hands under my face, and I stared into the water, the distance. It never ended. Just worlds of darkness swimming into each other, and you never would know when to come up for air.

He took another step closer, closer, and he placed his hand next to mine on the rail. Long, square fingers wrapped around the rail and his knuckles stuck out like little white mountains. "Tzippora."

"Mhmm."

"Put on your shoes. We're going back. Now."

I grabbed the sling-backs that I had carelessly tossed, like life's worries, at the edge of the boardwalk, where the wood met the mushy, green grass. Suddenly, I was five inches taller. I tottered after Ari back to my house.

Festive little gold lights that were strung around the patio shone brightly, artificially. Laughter and chatting mingled softly and a piano tinkled. Everyone was happy for us. Us.

"Tzippora," Shaindy said, throwing her arms around me, drowning me in perfume. "Are you so excited? You're finally engaged."

"Thanks, Shaindy," I said, pushing her away. Her perfect smile didn't reach her icy eyes.

"You don't seem very happy."

"I'm happy. Why shouldn't I be happy? I'm engaged. I'm getting married. I'm going to build a bayis ne'eman b'yisrael. Who wouldn't be happy?" The words sounded hollow and sarcastic to my own ears.

"You're not."

Why wasn't I happy? Any other girl would be happy. Was this just cold feet?

"It's time to break the plate," I heard my mother call. I headed to the living room alone, walking through halls of laughter and cocktails.

"Mazel tov, Tzippora!"

Breaking the plate would make the engagement final.

My mother motioned for me to come stand near her, and Ari was already standing near his mother. Our mothers were holding a crystal plate wrapped in a white satin scarf. Before it happened I could almost see it crashing onto the floor, breaking apart, piece by piece, shattering. Except it wasn't the plate I saw falling.

My heart's soldiers began stampeding into each other, one camp trying to smother the other. I couldn't do this. I had to do this. I couldn't break the engagement. We were just about to break the plate. But once we broke the plate it would be final. My life with Ari would be final, etched.

"No," I said. But over the hubbub only Ari heard me. He looked at me, black eyes dark, brooding, flitting across my face. His eyes landed on mine, and for a moment, I felt it. A thread connecting us, sparking something within, but then, it was like someone had snapped the thread, and I was left hanging in mid-air, my feet dangling. And we both looked away.

The plate came crashing onto the floor and there were screams of "mazel tov" as everyone started laughing and hugging. My mother embraced me. "You're going to be so happy!"

*****

I don't remember how the night ended. My mind was a blur of cameras flashing, drinking cocktails, and laughing people. A few days later, I was walking to the bus stop, my black hair billowing in the early December wind. Ari's arresting eyes met me at every corner. I waited for the B11, leaning against the glass. I was meeting Ari's mother at the jewelry store where I would pick out a watch, a customary gift for the bride.

When the bus came, I took my usual seat, two rows down by the aisle. Behind me sat a Muslim woman, wrapped in colorful pink glory. The bus started to pull out when suddenly someone banged on the window right near mine, the bus driver immediately stopped the bus and a tall, gangly man came barreling onto the bus, an odd scent of smoke, sweat and alcohol following him. His torn, corduroy jacket fit him snugly, his bones jutting out sharply. On his long thin nose sat small glasses, almost overshadowed by his two black, thick eyebrows.

"Hello, sister!" he said to the woman behind me as he sat down next to her. I was happy he wasn't sitting next to me; I didn't want him on the bus. Something about his boisterous voice made me nervous.

Even though I had my iPod stuck securely in my ears, listening to a shiur by a well-known rebbetzin about marriage, I could still hear the man behind me perfectly. "I'll never forget," he said. "When I went on hajj when I was a child. The doors of Allah, they are open for you there. Have you ever been on hajj?"

"Yes," I could hear the woman say.

"Yes, yes, so you know, the doors of Allah, they open up there, and whatever," he raised his voice, "I asked for, I got. I was just a child then so I asked for cars and whatever I asked for I got. Allah's door is open. If I could go back anyplace in the world, I would go to Mecca."

I clutched my purse tightly. I was afraid he would blow the bus up. Fanatical Muslims and buses made my stomach churn. Scenes flashed before my eyes: my Israeli friends calling me on the bus, laughing and then, suddenly screams, wails, limbs flailing into the air never meeting their owners again, blood, a bus bombed. And it could happen here too. Terrorists weren't exclusive. And if I died, if I was blown up to smithereens, my parents and friends would probably cry. But would Ari cry? Would I cry if he died?

"Some people want to go to Nova Scotia, some people want to go to Paris or Venice, but all I want to do is make hajj to Mecca. I would ask for very different things this time. I was just a kid then, but everything came true, sister."

"Yes."

"My name is Khalil and my wife's name is Jameela. I pray that Allah should bless us, because, sister, you know there is sometimes some tension. And I pray that Allah should bless you too!"

"Thank you."

"NEXT STOP PLEASE!" he yelled and the bus halted as he lumbered off.

I could hear the entire bus practically breathe a sigh of relief and the Muslim woman laughed. "Don't worry, he's gone." I could feel my shoulders easing.

I got off the bus and walked to the jewelry store, looking for Ari's mother. Instead I saw Ari, twisting his palms together. He didn't see me as I approached, and I watched him, looking off into the distance, his eyes on the speeding cars rushing by, as if every car was a moment of his life that he couldn't catch.

"Ari."

"Tzippora," he nodded.

Cars beeped, birds chirped, and people walked by laughing, but we didn't say anything.

"Where's your mother?"

"Tzippora."

"Yes?"

"Tzippora. III want to break the engagement."

For a moment, the entire world stopped. The pigeon flying into the sky stopped midair its wings interposed as if it were about to head on a magnificent journey, the cars stopped as if there was nowhere left to go, and I stopped breathing. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It. It meanssomething."

"You asked me to marry you."

"I thought that would be the best thing."

"What changed your mind?"

"You. You did."

The war was over. The soldiers stopped fighting.

"This, it won't work out if you don't want it to work out. I told my mother I'd pick out the watch with you. But we'll tell them tonight," he said.

I twisted the ring around my finger.

"Okay? Is that okay with you?" He looked at me expectantly, eyes turned up at the corners, and for a moment I thought I saw a flash of hope flicker in his eyes.

"Yes, Ari, that's okay."

His shoulder slumped. "I just want you to be happy."

*****

As I walked home, I passed a park. Children ran and laughed and for a moment I saw myself and Ari, three and four, running after each other, our arms wide open and our cheeks red.

"I'm superman!" Ari said.

"I'm supergirl!"

We had run, our feet pounding against the black pavement beating to our hearts, with one rhythm.

I took my phone out of my bag and called him.

"Tzippora?"

"Ari. Don't."

"What?"

"Let's not. I don't want us to break the engagement."

"Really?"

"Yes." The past somehow happens by itself-the future we build.