Wishing on a Blue Star

by Kris Jacen

  “Mark, will you wait up?” Jason Lomax glared after the swiftly disappearing back of his boyfriend. He tilted his head skyward and squeezed his water bottle, gulping the lukewarm liquid before pressing the cap down and shoving the plastic container into its clip. He didn’t care what any newscaster had to say about El Niño weather patterns or global warming. The end of September in landscape scant miles away from Michigan’s Upper Peninsula shouldn’t be this warm.

  Jason lowered the zipper at the neck of his breathable, wicking, supposedly temperature-controlling shirt and tightened the strap of his helmet. With a muttered exclamation, he shoved his feet back into the toe clips on his rented bike and pushed off, weaving for a second or two before he reacquired his balance and started off.

  “This will be something we can do together,” he mimicked Mark’s words. The same ones used to cajole him into the trip. “A chance for us to get away and reconnect.” Jason snorted. So far, the only thing to connect had been his sore ass to this bicycle seat while they pedaled around Mackinaw City and the surrounding area.

  A car passed him, dirt and gravel kicked up in its wake. Jason lowered his head and listened to the pinging of the small stones against the fiberglass of his helmet. Thank God for sunglasses. And for the comfortable amenities of the hotel room, especially the Jacuzzi tub patiently waiting for their return.

  Mark had wanted to try camping, tent and all. Jason shuddered at the thought. He could do rustic with the best of them, and build a mean campfire, thank you very much. But sometimes, he and Mark differed on levels of necessary comfort, and in his mind, the hot tub came high on the “necessary” list. The trip might have been a complete rainout instead of the unexpected heat wave, and a wet tent wasn’t Jason’s idea of a good time.

  He’d admit the changing colors gave a spectacular show. Jason admired the vast array of red, gold, and fading green foliage surrounding him, fallen leaves covering the ground and crushed beneath his wheels. No wonder this area proudly displayed signs staking claim to being part of the designated Official State Color Tour in the fall.

  Jason groaned, his thighs flexing as he painfully powered his way up the hill to the end of the street and the actual end of the road he traveled. Once stopped, he pushed escaping strands of sweat-soaked hair back under his helmet. God only knew the horrific display of hat head he’d sport when he removed the offending item of protection; his dark mop resembled a Brillo pad on the best of days. He stared at the two directions available to him; both were dirt and gravel that promised nothing but effort he didn’t want to expend before he read the sign. McGulpin Lighthouse was to his right, and the Headlands to his left. Jason wondered just what the heck a headlands was. Mark would know. This entire trip was a feast for his history and obscure-fact-loving soul, but Mark had taken off ahead of him.

  A spray of gravel interrupted his directional debate as Mark’s bike skidded to a stop beside him. Jason pushed again at his misbehaving hair and took a small measure of satisfaction in the gasping breaths his boyfriend needed to suck in before he spoke.

  “The lighthouse is a little further up the road.” Mark beamed a smile toward Jason. A wide, happy grin lit his face with excitement as he rocked his body, the wheels of his bicycle carving out a narrow trail in the dirt. “Cars are in the lot, so I think we can walk through.”

  “Great,” Jason muttered under his breath. “Just what I wanted to do.” He frowned, Mark’s smile dimmed, and Jason knew the whole unhappy cycle of their relationship for the last several months had started once again. He couldn’t blame Mark. If anything, Jason was the one who had failed to speak up when Mark first laid out his plans for the trip. Yes, he wished Mark had included him in the planning, but other than the tent, Jason had gone along with every suggestion, eager to make amends for the overtime hours he had spent on his last case. Definitely too little and too late to complain now.

  Mark took off ahead of him, and Jason let his eyes focus on the sparse frame accented by the close-fitting material of his gear. Jason appreciated Mark’s long lanky body: a natural athlete perched on the small bicycle seat. Totally unlike Jason, who was thick and blocky atop the vinyl saddle, unstable and unable to control the two wheels beneath him.

  He liked cycling in theory. He and Mark made a point of watching the Tour de France every year. He just never felt comfortable on a bike once he put theory into practice. Mark assured him the ease would come with time, but Jason wondered how much longer he had to wait.

  Jason glanced ahead of Mark and realized they had ridden up to another electrical power station in the middle of their nowhere. He couldn’t help but be fascinated by the assortment of metal twisted into strange shapes and curves no one ever seemed to understand the purpose of. He accepted the principles of electricity, the movement of the unseen current along copper wire, and the way the condensers and coils worked to step down the voltage for safe usage in the modern world. But he never got past the how. Who had been the first to figure this out? How had they put it into practice? His inner pragmatist didn’t buy Ben Franklin with his key and homemade kite in the middle of a storm.

  “We’re almost there.” Mark paused by the power station and grinned when Jason caught up to him. Mark held his sunglasses in his hand, face reddened from the influx of oxygenated blood. Jason couldn’t help the little zing that ran through him. Mark shrugged off Jason’s compliments, swearing his dark brown hair and matching eyes were average in appearance, but something about him had caught Jason’s attention their first meeting and hadn’t let go of him since.

  This time, they pedaled off in tandem, Mark naming the wildflowers fighting for life in the cracked asphalt of the shoulder: chicory with blue, daisy-like blossoms and the ever-present Queen Anne’s lace. Jason relaxed, enjoying Mark’s unexpected attention. The brush framing the road grew taller, trees and weeds combining to form a thick barrier. They passed a dirt side street on the left and Mark slowed his pace, Jason instinctively following suit.

  A large sign loomed on the right, announcing their destination as the brush became less dense, and Jason caught his first glimpse of a faded, yellow brick building and attached tower set back from the road. Three cars and a RV sat parked in the gravel lot. Jason came to a stop beside them. He shifted off his seat as his legs stretched thankfully down to the ground to secure his balance, mindful as always of the solid bar some sadistic soul had decided was a necessity on a man’s bicycle.

  “Look at that,” Mark said excitedly as he hopped off and secured his bike in the waiting rack before taking off his helmet. Jason gingerly swung his leg over his own, and wheeled it to rest beside Mark’s, uncomfortable as always as his first, few movements shifted the padding in his shorts. Oh, yeah. Fun times.

  “Wasn’t the building set too far back from the water to do any good?” Jason couldn’t help but question. Every picture he had always seen of lighthouses showed them perched on some rocky coast.

  “This place is amazing.” Ignoring Jason, Mark rested his hands on hips as he surveyed the aged exterior, his eyes shining with excitement. “So full of history. Built in 1868, the lantern was first lit in 1869 and burned every night until deactivated in 1906.”

  “What happened then?” Jason asked, intrigued despite himself by Mark’s excited recitation. His initial impression of the old lighthouse grounds proved disappointing. The grass, dried and browned by heat and lack of moisture. Someone had tried planting petunias along the side, but the plants had grown leggy, the blossoms small.

  “The building was used as a private residence,” Mark responded as Jason pulled off his helmet and shoved his hair off his face. “Then, in 2008, Emmet County purchased the lighthouse and started the restoration.”

  “Pretty cool,” Jason conceded. “It must have been fun to grow up here as a kid.” He followed Mark’s example, dangling his helmet from the bike’s handlebars, and walked across the gravel toward the side entrance.

  “I know, right?” Mark’s face brightened at Jason’s contri
bution. He slid his arm around Jason’s waist and pulled him close.

  “So, the county turned the structure into a museum?” Jason asked as they reached the building. A small placard announced the hours of operation, and Jason couldn’t resist petting the ginger-striped cat curled up in a large planting pot beside the step.

  “Kind of.” Mark opened the wooden, screened door for Jason. “Nothing here right now but photographic displays. Brian told me the full restoration would take years, but we shouldn’t miss the chance to climb to the top of the tower.”

  Jason’s good humor quickly evaporated. “Brian?” he questioned, as his body stiffened. He heard the stilted tone of his voice but couldn’t help it. The two of them had met Brian on the second night of their stay while strolling a portion of the three-mile Historical Pathway laid out around the city. Mark insisted on stopping and reading every display marker they passed, and when Jason had taken advantage of Mark’s distraction to use the restroom, Brian had walked up and introduced himself.

  Brian had acknowledged Jason’s reappearance with a rueful smile, but continued to direct his attention and historical tidbits toward Mark. Turned out the two of them were both history teachers, and they eagerly compared classroom notes and teaching techniques while Jason, a transactional lawyer by trade, trailed along behind, his unhappiness increasing with every step.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Mark said, apparently oblivious to Jason’s change in mood. “He’s staying in our hotel. I ran across him when you were in the shower and I went to get us some bagels. He told me about the lighthouse and gave me directions.”

  “Great.” Jason bit his lip to keep from saying any more and walked through the doorway. Worn wooden floors, stained with age, creaked under his step. The first room doubled as a gift shop. Shelves prominently displayed books and DVDs full of history of the Straits area and coffee mugs bearing images of the Mackinac Bridge were available in a variety of colors. To the left was a small counter, manned by a woman currently deep in discussion with an elderly man in plaid shorts and black dress socks who had to be the owner of the RV.

  Happy to avoid any conversation, Jason quickly took the stairs to the next level. He peeked into the open rooms, frozen tableaus of how the lighthouse keepers and families lived their lives. Photographs were displayed on the walls of the corridor, detailing the construction of the lighthouse and scenic views. Mark poked along behind him, humming happily at each new discovery, and Jason’s shoulders tensed even as he told himself not to be such an ass.

  At the back of the building, they paused outside the entrance to the round tower housing the powerful lamp. Grated steps of black metal wound to the top in an upward spiral. Jason grew dizzy just looking at the narrowing brickwork, and he rested his hand against the cool stone of the outer wall. The difference in temperature between the two parts of the building was immediately noticeable.

  “We going up?” Mark leaned across Jason’s shoulder, looking past him.

  “You go first.” Jason shifted to the side and let Mark pass. He stared at the sign posted on the wall beside the door, warning persons with heart conditions or fear of enclosed spaces not to enter. Reluctantly, he walked through the doorway. Mark had already disappeared from sight, the sound of his footsteps echoing overhead. Jason swallowed as he placed his foot on the lower step, his pulse hammering by the time he slowly made his way to the third. If only the steps were solid instead of being open and letting him see how far back down to Mother Earth he could fall.

  Jason crept his way up to the fifth riser, gritting his teeth and fighting against his instinctive desire to squat low and hover close to the ground. He hated his vertigo. Despite his knowledge the stairway wasn’t moving, each step seemed to sway beneath his feet, and while Jason thought he might force himself to the top of the narrow tower, he didn’t know how he’d manage the return journey.

  “You coming?” Mark’s voice floated down toward him.

  “Maybe I’ll pass.” It took two tries for Jason to get his dry mouth to croak out the words, and he pressed himself close against the stone wall as he sat on the step. His fingers tightly gripped the metal in an effort to regain control. “You go ahead.”

  “You sure?”

  Jason squeezed his eyes shut and kept one hand on the wall as he bumped his butt down to the next step without answering. Thank God there was no one watching. Mark knew he had a fear of heights, but had never seen Jason in full, irrational action.

  “I can’t believe how narrow this tower gets.”

  Accompanied by Mark’s excited commentary, Jason slowly inched his way back to the bottom of the staircase and stood up. He tugged at the collar of his tight-fitting shirt. A side exit led to the outside, and Jason opened the door, grateful for the rush of fresh air.

  “I’m going to look around,” Jason yelled up to Mark, and without waiting for a reply, he stepped out. The sun warmed his face, and Jason let the combination of light and air dissipate the unease he had felt in the tower.

  A small, dirt path next to an abandoned doghouse led away from the grounds and down a wooded hill; without thinking, Jason started following it. The trail quickly grew steeper and more difficult, forcing him to grab at branches and brush to stay on his feet. He glanced behind himself. He could see the metal walkway around the top of the tower, the shape of the lantern in the middle visible through the glass, and just maybe that small figure was Mark, looking out toward him. Jason stumbled over a rock and reached out to catch himself.

  “Wow,” he breathed. The path ended abruptly, brush giving way to an enormous expanse of water as land stopped and the Great Lake began. Jason picked his way across the coastline covered in layers of rock, surprised at the lack of sand. There were huge boulders closer to the edge and a few farther out in the lake. He listened to the rhythmic pulse of the surf, a steady heartbeat against the shore, and bent down to pick up a small chunk of limestone before taking a seat on one of the larger blocks, his heels dangling along the side.

  Jason rubbed the stone between his fingers, fascinated by the smooth texture. He traced the spiral outline of some ancient creature, compressed and fossilized by the passage of time, before he coiled his arm back and threw the rock into the water with a loud splash. His seat gave him an uninterrupted view of the Mackinac Bridge, the suspension wires giving the steel structure a deceptively airy appearance.

  At this distance, the top of the bridge’s twin towers were covered by a cloudy mist despite the unseasonable warmth of the day, and Jason remembered the movie chronicling the bridge’s construction he and Mark had viewed their first night in town. To their surprise, the entire upper level of the local pizza parlor had been converted into a museum commemorating the achievements of the ironworkers. Mementos of the era shared space alongside a gift shop and small theater. Jason sat fascinated in the dark, Mark’s hand in his, and watched as men battled the elements to conquer the Straits and build the bridge before him.

  Given his fear of heights, Jason couldn’t imagine the courage the endeavor had taken. He wondered what those men would think of him, sitting here pouting like a child, jealous because he had to share his favorite toy. But Mark was more than a toy, and they weren’t children. Brian should have known better than to continue his pursuit, Mark shouldn’t have let his natural friendliness be misconstrued, and Jason was at fault for not speaking up once again. So, now what?

  He understood the intricacies needed for titles of ownership and corporate battles. Relationships baffled him. Jason sat on his rock, the elemental force of the lake calming his jagged nerves. The water seemed alive, inhaling and exhaling in a constant, unceasing pattern, and the longer he watched, the more at peace Jason became. His silly fears and insecurities meant nothing to the great entity. It had existed for ages before him, and would go on long after.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Jason didn’t even start at the unexpected sound of Mark’s voice behind him.

  “I’m not sure, but I kn
ow I should apologize for something.” Mark shrugged and took a seat beside Jason. “I saw you from the tower,” he said, when Jason continued to sit in silence. “Are we going to talk?”

  Jason inched closer to Mark. He hadn’t realized how cool the breeze blowing in off the lake to shore really was. “I’m sorry too,” he said. He was happy Mark had made an effort to find him, but it was still easier staring out at the bridge than at Mark.

  “For what?” Mark asked. He rested his palm on Jason’s thigh, warm even through the material of Jason’s shorts and squeezed the muscle gently.

  “For not speaking up.” Jason reached for Mark’s hand and twined their fingers together. “For being so afraid of losing you that I stopped being honest about things when they matter.”

  “We all do that.” Mark tightened his grasp and leaned closer into Jason’s side. “Somewhere along the line, it just gets easier not to.”

  “Like how?” Jason asked, interested in Mark’s take on their situation.

  “I should ask you to work less overtime instead of convincing myself you don’t want to come home. I shouldn’t have used Brian what’s-his-name in an attempt to make you jealous.”

  Jason laughed. “It worked.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Jason finally let himself look at Mark, visually tracing the familiar smile and faint crinkles by the corners of his eyes. “I wanted to rip his spindly little head right off.”

  “The view here is amazing,” Mark murmured. “We wouldn’t have found this without his suggestion. But he was never a threat to my feelings for you.”

  “Remind me to thank him next time we don’t see him.” Jason poked Mark in the side. “You were right. We needed to get away.”

  Mark smiled and relaxed against Jason’s shoulder, his arm wrapped tightly around Jason’s waist. “I’m glad you think so.”