Daddy, can you see the stars? I can see them, Daddy.
"Mommy? Are you okay?" Chase, my six-year-old son, asks me.
"Of course," I answer as we sit in the planetarium's IMAX Theater. Actually, he'd caught me deep in thought. Anticipating this movie equals agony for me. I hear it's good. Nice and realistic. My son has been begging me to bring him for months. I'd procrastinated, hoping by some divine intervention that his elementary school would have taken him with other eager students during a field trip instead.
It's too painful, space. That majestic, dark wonderland, which, in reality, is comprised of unforgiving black holes and planets that are either too cold or too hot. My father, the astronomer, loved to show me the mystery that was gravitational pulls, equinoxes, and eclipses. I knew every constellation. On clear nights, we'd study the stars, he and I, until I swore I saw my name in lights. Then one night, he left my mother, and for some reason, thought she and I were a package deal, because I never saw him again.
It's hard enough when little reminders such as a picture or a cufflink make memories click. Throw in something as massive and repetitive as the night sky and anybody can see why I haven't been able to let go of his absence, and why I haven't been able to keep a relationship. Men always become collateral damage in my screwed up life.
People are starting to don their 3D glasses. My son looks at me, his innocent grin pleading with me to put mine on.
"Hey, Chase," I hear a little girl's sweet innocence behind me.
"Hey, Hanna," Chase responds.
She's with a man who I assume is her father. Her mother must be at the snack-bar getting drinks. Good. Three people. There are only two seats remaining in the row I'm sitting in so I don't have to worry about that family crowding us in a desperate attempt in letting our kids socialize.
"Mommy?" Chase begins. Here it comes. "Can they sit next to us? She's in my class."
"Well, we would but there are not enough seats, sweetie. I'm sure her mother would like to sit with her too."
In the true fashion of a six-year-old, Chase says, "She doesn't have a mommy."
"Chase!" I scream.
Hanna's father interjects. "It's alright. But it is just the two of us. However if you want, we can try to sit elsewhere."
"Of course not," I say, a little embarrassed.
"Mommy, let me sit next to Hanna. You sit here, okay?"
In other words, allow me to move so that Hanna takes my spot, and I end up sitting next to her father.
The best thing to have done would have been for me to sit on the other side of Chase, allowing Hanna's father to sit on the outer edge, next to Hanna. And I almost start to do that until the lights fade to black and I get stuck between Hanna's father on the outer edge, Hanna on the other side of me, and Chase in the fourth seat.
Its pitch black, I'm sitting next to a strange man, and I'm about to be surrounded by my issues.
The stars appear then the narrator begins talking about space. I swallow, tense up, and grab the armrest as comets flash back and forth across the massive, all-encompassing screen.
"Um, excuse me...you okay?" Hanna's father asks me.
"Sure."
"Well, since we're sitting next to each other, I'm Jay."
"Connie."
The loud voice of the narrator begins to suffocate me. The planets, swishing back and forth plus the fake space ride I'm on, make me dizzy as if I'm drunk. Then the red-heat of Mars. It's all too much.
I jump up. Jay, and the very annoyed crowd look at me. "Watch my son, please." I make my way outside the theater. With the same trajectory as the make-believe ship I was just inside, I race for the ladies' room, slap open a stall door, and hurl in the commode.
I'm a grown woman and I have to get this behind me. But to not know. It would be easier if I knew where he was, what really happened. But his disappearance is just as mysterious as the orbits he used to study.
When I come out of the bathroom, the party of three is waiting on me.
"I'm sorry," I say to Chase. Then I apologize to Jay.
"It's cool," he says.
"Daddy, I need to use the bathroom," Hanna says.
"I'll take her," I respond. "It's the least I can do."
When we come out of the bathroom, I see Jay and Chase sitting on a bench. I walk Hanna over to Jay and take Chase's hand.
"I'm hungry," Chase says.
"Okay, well, first let's get out of here," I say.
"Can Hanna come?" Chase asks.
I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.
"I'm sure her father has plans," I say.
"No, actually her father doesn't," Jay says. "How 'bout it, Connie?"
"Alright," I say.
We leave our cars parked at the planetarium and walk across the street to a park. After settling in, and letting the kids chomp down on hot dogs and chips, we excuse them so they can go be kids.
"Do you want to tell me what your disappearing act was all about?" Jay asks.
For the first time in years, I actually talk about my pain. And the ironic thing is, I tell it to a man I've known for three hours.
He tells me about how, two years ago, his wife left him and Hanna.
"We have something in common," he says. "I don't know where Hanna's mother is either."
Was I meant to be here today? Was it supposed to happen that I come to the source of my pain in order to start healing?
Before we realize it, two more hours pass. The kids are swinging, having fun. And I actually feel comfortable having a real conversation with a man.
Jay says, "Would you mind if I took you somewhere alone?"
I look at him as if I'm questioning his character.
"Trust me. My mind is not in the gutter."
I agree. Although I find it funny that he wants to stay at the park. I have a friend come get Chase and Jay's mother gets Hanna.
"Alright," I say. "Where to."
He looks across the street. "The planetarium. There is another show starting in fifteen minutes."
"Are you crazy?" I yell. Then I walk away as if he and I haven't bonded. As if he and I haven't clicked. As if he and I haven't begun what I know we have, a relationship of some sort.
He stops me. "You may not ever be able to find your father. And I know what it's like to simply not know. So I can tell you that if you don't face this you're never going to see what's right in front of you."
"Oh yeah. What's that?"
"Me."
He's right. I don't know him well. But I know him well enough to want to know more. But that will never happen if I don't drop this wall.
I allow him to escort me back into the planetarium. The lights fade to black. The show begins.
I find myself grabbing his hand tighter with each shooting star. I swallow to stop myself from becoming sick. But with Jay's help, I survive the movie and thus, realize that I can survive my father's departure.
I make a pit-stop at the bathroom then Jay and I leave the theater and walk out into natural darkness.
He walks me to my car. This is not how I pictured a first date, but this is it what my evening has turned out to be.
"I have something for you," he says. "I bought it while you were in the bathroom. I went to the gift shop."
I figured it was a trinket of some kind. But he pulls an eight-by-ten envelope from inside his jacket. It was a Certificate of Authenticity.
"You bought me a star?" I ask.
"Yep. You're number 5986 something. Let me look."
"Why?"
"Because you remind me of a star. Bright and deserving of somebody to identify with it. To want it. And when you're ready, we'll look it up in the registry and try to find it in the sky. Then maybe outer-space won't seem so bad."
I hug him, knowing that I may not get the closure I need, but I can sure open another door when trying to find it.