The Night Sky Festival

by S. A. Stovall

  But it’s December 23. One day away from this fated Night Sky Festival. I’m probably hyping it too much in my head, but I think about it frequently enough. I’ll get to see Ethan and Broden again. Maybe there’ll be some more flirting.

  But the fucking heat… it’ll be the death of me. Ninety degrees? How is it the temperature went up? Once again, the unabated sun and lack of wind make everything seem twenty degrees worse than reality. I park and step out of the car, ready to be baked alive.

  I wipe away a line of sweat from my brow as I snap pictures of the flat landscape. Well, some mountains rise in the distance, but they shimmer and sway with the waves of heat radiating from the ground, like they might all just be an illusion, so they don’t count. The long road to Vegas doesn’t offer much in terms of sights. I may have picked the wrong direction to drive in order to get a few photos.

  Geez. It’s in the dead of December, for crying out loud. At least the coastal cities got the ocean breeze. Baker has the sun’s attention like it was the sun’s long-lost love.

  A police car leisurely rolls down the road and comes to a stop near mine. I stand up straight and brush off my clothes. What could a police officer possibly want with me?

  Out steps a man who could bench-press the moon. He turns his gaze to me, his sunglasses reflecting everything like a perfect black mirror. I must admit, my knees weaken, and my mouth fills with cotton. He’s man muscle wrapped in uniform.

  Sweet Baby Jesus give me strength.

  What’s wrong with me? Maybe I really do need to get laid. Now I super blame Ethan. And Broden. When I was just angry at my ex, I never gave thought to any of the men around me, but now it feels like something has happened. Like the first mental barrier that kept me from seeing attractive men had been lifted.

  Is this a good thing or a bad thing?

  As the police officer walks over to me, I realize it’s a good thing.

  “Hello, officer,” I manage to say. “Nice to meet me. Er, I mean….”

  Oh my fucking God. The urge to face-palm is high.

  “Wait a minute,” the officer says with a smile. “You’re that photographer everyone in town is talkin’ about.”

  “Everyone in town is talking about me?”

  “Sure. Not much happens around here. Unless you count the drunks from Vegas who drop off drugs and unconscious bodies. Oh, and the UFOs. Besides that, pretty dull.”

  Drugs, bodies, and UFOs. Yup. Everyday stuff for Baker.

  I almost want to laugh, but all that comes out is anxious chuckles. The guy has short-cut brown hair, a uniform that almost can’t contain his muscles, and a smooth face that betrays his twentysomething age.

  His badge reads: KROSS.

  “Am I doing something wrong?” I ask.

  “No,” Officer Kross says. “But I always get curious when I see people doin’ odd things out in the desert. What’re you doing out here? Certainly not taking picture of the landscape. Nothing good out there.”

  “Well, I am taking pictures of the landscape, obviously.”

  “Hm. Boring. Hey, maybe you can take a picture for me.”

  I hold my camera close. This is already sounding weird. “Of what?”

  “Of me. I need to update my gaming profile.”

  Gaming profile?

  Urg. My attraction for the man plummets in a matter of moments. My ex loved video games. Although there’s nothing wrong with video games, per se, they now leave a negative impression on me.

  I roll my eyes. “Sure. Whatever. I’ll take a photo of you for your gaming profile. But I should use your phone and not my camera.”

  “Awesome,” Officer Kross says. He hands me his phone.

  Then he leans back against his police vehicle and smiles. The combination of his stellar appearance and black sunglasses get my heart rate up, but I temper that with memories of my ex playing video games. Again, I really shouldn’t be thinking about any of this.

  I take a few shots—close up, far away, some at a very flattering angle—and return his cell phone. “There.”

  Officer Kross smooths his uniform while he examines the photos. “You’re pretty damn good at this. All my D&D buddies will be jealous. My GM will want to hit you up.”

  “Is that some sort of video game slang to avoid using the word grandmother in a sentence?” I quip. “I don’t care whose basement you live in. You don’t need to use acronyms.”

  The man laughs. Then he taps his cuffs. “Did you know I could arrest you for contempt of cop?”

  I tense and harden my gaze. “R-really?”

  Again, he laughs, but this time he casually leans against his car and offers me a sincere smile. “Relax, Town-Shirt. I’m not gonna arrest you. I just like the look on people’s face when I tell them that.”

  I huff. “Very funny.”

  He ignores me and continues, “The GM stands for Game Master. And it’s not video game slang, it’s for tabletop games. You’ve heard of Dungeons and Dragons, haven’t you? Think dice and paper.”

  Oh man. He’s a nerd. One of those old-school, classic nerds. But he’s in the body of a gym rat. I’ve never seen that combination before. My world has been shattered. Nothing makes sense anymore. Up is down and down is up.

  Officer Kross lightly punches me in the arm. “You look like an envelope without an address on it. What happened? Did Dungeons and Dragons kill your mother or something?”

  I run a hand through my hair. “No. I’ve just never met someone in real life who plays tabletop games.”

  “There you have it. You’ve met one.”

  “You’re not into video games, though. Right?”

  “No. Don’t have the time, not after work, the gym, and D&D. Why?”

  I let out a long exhale and return to admiring him. “Well, I knew this guy who played a lot of video games. He… well… he left me around this time two years ago, so I tend to associate negative things to—”

  “Do you have a picture of him?” Officer Kross interjects.

  My train of thought nearly derails. “What?”

  “I said, do you have a picture of him?”

  “I heard what you said,” I snap. “Why?”

  “Figured you might have a picture. And I’d like to see him.”

  What a bizarre request.

  But I did, in fact, have a picture of my ex. How did Officer Kross know? Well, he must have guessed, but still. Did I look weird and desperate, like I was still clinging to the past or something?

  I only kept one photo of my ex on my camera—I don’t know why I never could delete it—and I scrolled through my photos until I came to it. The photo was taken while we were at home. He was eating and watching TV while I was on the couch, fiddling with my new camera. It’s not the best picture, and he’s not even smiling, but I kept it regardless.

  I hand the camera over and point to the photo on the camera screen. “There he is.”

  “Really? Him?”

  “Yes. Like I said, he left me, and now I associate video games with everything about him. It’s probably not rational. I know, but we argued a lot during the last few months, and he would play video games while we argued, like what we were discussing wasn’t even worth putting the damn controller down for.”

  Officer Kross chuckles. “Well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words, but this photo is worth only one: douchebag.”

  I laugh aloud. Before I can take my camera back, Officer Kross deletes the image.

  “Wh-what did you do that for?” I half shout.

  He hands the camera back. “You obviously needed it.”

  Unable to find the right words, I turn away. Each beat of my heart bangs against my ribs—the anger is intense enough I want to punch something—but the longer it drags on, the more I realize he’s right. I should have deleted that photo a long time ago. It wasn’t even a good moment in time, one I could reflect on fondly. It just was baggage.

  But still. He shouldn’t have deleted it without asking me. What a dick move.
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  “Sorry,” Officer Kross says. “I was just trying to help. I understand being hung up on someone, better than anyone. Distance is a great way to heal. Trust me.” Then he grabs me and pulls me close. “Hey. Look over there.”

  I stare out into the distance, confused by his proposition. “What’re you looking at?”

  “It looks like you and me, alone, tomorrow night.”

  My face grows red and hot.

  That was the worst—and the most cheesy—pickup line I have ever heard in my life. But three men in one town? It’s like I’m only running into gay guys. How is this possible?

  I turn to face Officer Kross, both impressed and a little weirded out by his ability to spew cheesy one-liners. Some gay men take the cautious approach, but I guess other men—men more brazen than I—just go for it full force. Of course, this is the same guy who just deleted something off my phone without asking, so obviously he’s a man who just does things.

  “As much as this is flattering—” Very flattering. I remove his muscular arm. “—I plan on attending the Night Sky Festival tomorrow.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ll show up too, then.”

  I gave him the once-over. “To be with me?”

  “To enjoy the festivities. And maybe be with you. The Night Sky Festival has all sorts of crazy traditions.”

  I didn’t know that. I thought it was a made-up festival for the middle of nowhere. It has traditions?

  “I guess I’ll see you there, then,” I say.

  “Yup,” the officer says. “It’ll be quite the night.”

  THE EVENING of the Night Sky Festival.

  I walk the short road of Baker to the large festival area. The setting sun soaks the sky in reds and oranges, blanketing everything in a dying warmth. It reminds me of when I was younger, before I moved away from home. I lived on the edge of Mexico and Texas, and the switch from day to night was glorious. The temperature drastically changes, as if the world has become inverted.

  I hold my camera up and point it at the sky.

  The stars….

  One by one they peek out of the darkness, dotting the evening with an otherworldly glitter. When the sun sinks into the horizon, a single sliver of red refuses to go. It highlights the vast desert and foothills in the distance, creating silhouettes of nature all around us.

  The breathtaking sight is one of the many reasons I became a photographer. I don’t have the imagination to think up something so grand, but I do have the appreciation to know it’s a sight that should be shared and rejoiced over. I snap a few photos, making sure to get the red of the fading sun. But once it’s gone, I set my camera on a tripod.

  I know the type of photo I want.

  A time-lapse—a photo that slowly takes the image over several hours. It’ll make the stars look like they’re swirling in the sky. And the pristine view, unpolluted by smoke, smog, or ambient light from skyscrapers, will make for the perfect time-lapse photo.

  “Hey, Zach!”

  Once my camera is set up for the photo and secured into place so one no steals it without cutting through several metal posts, I turn to see Ethan. The young man jogs over to me and then motions to the festivities. “I’m glad you made it. Are you ready to celebrate?”

  “Celebrate what?” I ask. “Christmas Eve?”

  “Well, er, you can celebrate that too, if you want. But I meant celebrating friends and family. That’s what the Night Sky Festival is all about. You see, we get everyone together and then we dance, and then at the end you pair up with someone and—”

  “Okay, okay,” I say. “You’ve already convinced me to show up. Let’s do this.”

  Ethan holds out his hand. I take it, and he smiles, his grip warm but in a pleasant way.

  When we reach the festival grounds, I have to stop myself from locking up in shock.

  The whole town is here. Hundreds of people. Food sizzles on nearby barbeques, and a band plays live music, the notes swirling into the sky to dance with the stars. Lights—blue and white—dot the stands and line the dancing stage. I think they’re Christmas lights, but they’ve been fashioned in such a way as to appear like stars themselves.

  And, of course, little UFOs are strung up on festival stands or hung from telephone poles. Baker wouldn’t be the town it is without a guy selling abducted cow purple jerky.

  Ethan pulls me to the group of people dancing on a large flat stage constructed over the sands. We get up, and the tempo is a mix of fast and slow, something easy to get the rhythm for. Ethan doesn’t even wait—he slides into the music and dances solo for a moment before motioning for me to join in.

  His youthful energy is contagious. I saunter over and dance, though nothing flashy or fancy.

  Everyone around us does the same, most so wrapped up in their own celebrating they aren’t even glancing around. A few couples keep their arms wrapped around each other the entire time, their gazes locked together.

  Ethan gets up close and we dance, each step heating my body more than the last. It’s a good heat—not the type with the sun and desert—and it keeps the chill of night at bay. His faux mohawk gets sweaty enough to be sexy, and I must admit I enjoy the encounter more than I ever thought I would.

  A hand squeezes my shoulder in the middle of the dance, and I whirl around to spot Broden. He motions to me and Ethan. “May I interrupt?”

  Ethan replies with an awkward shrug and backs up a bit.

  Before I can voice my opinion one way or the other, Broden dances up close and smiles wide.

  He’s a few inches taller than I am, still the most bearish man I’ve seen in a long while, and I love his neatly trimmed beard. He also smells of a high-class cologne, and I half smile thinking the man spent time trying to think up something to impress me.

  I haven’t even dated since my ex left, but now all the familiar sensations come rushing back. The anxiety of meeting someone new—the exhilaration of the first moments—the flattery that anyone would want to share my time.

  Abby dances with a few girls her own age, not far from us. She gives her dad a covert thumbs-up, but I see the entire exchange. Broden returns the gesture.

  Unlike Ethan, who danced with unbridled enthusiasm and energy, Broden is mellow but smooth. He gets up close right as the music changes to something with a slower tempo. We’re so close, I enjoy the way his dark brown eyes reflect the lights of the festival and stars.

  I never did anything like this with my ex. The most we did was go to the occasional dinner and movie. He hated dancing. He hated nature. He hated all outdoor activity, to be frank.

  And outside of this trip, I try not to think about my ex, but that’s all I’ve done since I met Ethan. What is my problem? Maybe that’s why I couldn’t date after him. I never processed the divorce and got over him. I just buried the relationship deep within until it festered and rotted, leaving me bitter. But now that I think about it…. Why did I ever let it stop me from dating?

  “I think it’s my turn.”

  Officer Kross cuts between me and Broden with a coy smile. Broden doesn’t fight the switch, and neither do I.

  Outside of his uniform, Kross is more like the gym rats I’m accustomed to. A tight black T-shirt and skintight jeans. Everything about the man is on point, especially his rock-hard pecs and ass. But I restrain myself from making any sort of comment as he dances up close and wraps an arm around me.

  His aggression is a turn-on; my pulse is already high, and when he brings his lips closer, my body is practically begging to get a taste.

  But I remember this feeling with my ex. I think that’s how we got together in the first place. We hooked up a few times at a club. Everything was lust. Everything. It was good, felt great, but I guess I’m not the type of guy to easily differentiate lust from love.

  “I need to take it slow.” I hesitated, my mouth practically to his. I bet he tastes like sex, but I’m just not feeling it.

  Kross smiles before
he gives me a feather-kiss on the cheek. “Of course.”

  Ethan dances up alongside just as the music shifts to something faster and blood-pumping. He doesn’t even ask, he just scoots himself between me and Kross and then places his hands on the belt of my slacks. His jealousy—plain for the world to see—is only eclipsed by the slight look of admiration he has once he gets a better look at Kross.

  Right?

  I don’t even blame Ethan for staring. Kross is worth staring at.

  But then I catch a glimpse of Broden as he dances toward the edge of the stage, away from the crowds and no doubt to cheer on his daughter. He never frowns or shows a hint of melancholy, but I’ve been in his position before. My high school had a grand total of three gay guys, and when the other two hooked up, it left me feeling like the third wheel—like I’d never find anyone, so I might as well learn to be happy without.

  “Kross,” I call out into the crowd. “Dance with that guy over there. Trust me.”

  I motion to Broden, and Kross gives me a quick nod.

  Ethan continues to dance with me, seemingly satisfied he finally got me to himself. He watches Kross walk over to Broden, and then the two men finally strike up a quiet conversation before dancing.

  “You think they’ll get along?” Ethan asks.

  “I hope so,” I say. Two good-looking guys like that would make for a great couple.

  Ethan smiles wide. “You’re a lot nicer when it’s cool outside, aren’t you?”

  “Heat makes me irritable.”

  We dance our way into the center of the stage, my body feverish with the energy of the crowd. Ethan wraps an arm around my side. He’s a thin guy, weighs nothing, but I enjoy his wispy feather-touch. He has a warmth about him when we get close together. Gentle. Caring.

  Abby can’t seem to contain a smile. She glances over at her father several times, trying to hide her attention but failing miserably. She’s probably smitten with Kross too. Everyone is.

  “I’m glad you were sent to Baker to take photos,” Ethan whispers as he leans in close.