I wanted to be alone with him. I wanted to say things only he should hear. I wanted to get away from his nosy brother and barking dog. We needed to leave the glaring yellow lights and all-too-familiar furniture. I pulled on my navy blue sweatshirt. It was unusually warm for October, but the air did have a chill to it. He said he would be fine in his black t-shirt and army green shorts.
We left without telling his brother and started up the street. I’d driven -- or been driven -- up and down this road many times. Friends of my parents lived across the way. My hairdresser was on the next street. And my flute teacher wasn’t further than a block. The sun had set at least two hours ago and the sky was a blanket of black. I looked up, searching for stars. But the ugly orange street lights blocked my view.
I complained about how it was impossible for us to get any privacy. He was not nearly as frustrated as me; to him it was a minor annoyance. He just wanted to be with me. I wanted to be with him alone.
Most of the houses we passed were dark. There were an unusual variety of sizes. Some of the smaller houses were souped up with decks and swimming pools. Others were simple and large. The jewel green lawns were not yet covered by the orange and brown leaves threatening to fall from the trees that provided shade in the summer. The grass was long -- it was too cold to bother to mow it. The children were thankfully inside, away from us. The only distraction were two dogs barking in the distance. He explained that the two seemed to be in competition constantly.
Cars rushed noisily passed us, probably wondering why we were walking so late. We were headed to the baseball field. No one would be out playing at this time of night, in this weather. I kept looking over at him, asking him if he was cold. He insisted he wasn’t. I wondered if he was just trying to act tough.
We stepped up onto the main street, suddenly bathed in the bright green traffic light. More cars whizzed by us. Conversation was interrupted by the noise. Two bikers rode past. At the traffic light, we turned into the woods and followed the path down the baseball field. It had been years since I had set foot there. I had had a few soccer practices on the field. He had lived next to it for many years. We complained about how the city should flood it again so it could be a skating rink in the winter.
The dogs’ barking had become a distant memory. It was quiet. Even the cars on the main street had softened. It was almost too quiet. He kept hearing every little movement of the trees, thinking it was someone who had discovered us. I told him to relax. I had learned the sound of the woods.
It was colder, but at least we were alone. At last I could tell him the things I’d been waiting to say. We laid down on the grass, warming it with our body heat. All of a sudden, the stars had become vibrant. There were suddenly billions. We gazed up at the sky together.
We began to speak and joke around, glad to be together. Everything surrounding us -- the trees, the grass, the field, the stars -- suddenly seemed more beautiful and vivid, even in the darkness. We claimed the baseball field as our own and protected it with our secrets.