“Stardust” Short Story by Maria Gambino

I was never a committed writer but I was always a good listener and story teller, people have told me that my whole life. Story telling is a gift. It entails - timing, expressions, humility, selflessness, pauses and humor. It doesn’t surprise me because all my artwork are stories, narratives capturing a time and space in some form or another. When I was small and I mean small, our family would sit together at the table and eat a “Sunday dinner” my mom cooked, roast beef, potatoes and peas. All of us eating fast and restless waiting to be excused once we were done – not for my dad - he liked to control his 5 kids (my dad was in the army), he had restrictions. He would say no one can leave the table until after Maria tells us a story. So, I knew my siblings had better things to do than I did and I was not on their radar, certainly not when it came to their cool poster decked out rooms and Bob Dylan. I also knew it was the only time they would have acknowledged me even if it was mundane. I started my narrative slowly as my dad looked encouragingly on to me, of course, I had no idea what my story was to be about. After a minute words started to flow out of my mouth. It would often be about a turtle or some animal who had a long life and it would go on and on and on. Each sibling would chime in and say, and the turtle died, right died? it’s over, right!!! And, we can go now - be excused? And I would say no, actually the turtle lived and met a friend and they went on this adventure. That was the only time (being the youngest of five) I had my sibling’s attention, and for those brief moments a little power. No one could leave the table until I was done with my story. I did drag it on and finally the turtle would get run over. My dad would always say he couldn’t wait until the next story. No one else felt that way - nor did I. I did feel special that I had those moments. The beginning of exercising my imagination. Maybe it was the attention, maybe it was the beginning of my story telling.

This is how this story goes. I remember waking up one day, it was chilly and I took my coffee and sat outside and looked at the magpies. They are a strange sort, I thought, smart, beautiful, aggressive, observant and loud. They nagged at my dogs. If I were a bird - would I be a magpie? God, I hope not, good grief. I had bigger aspirations like a hawk, or an eagle, or perhaps a white dove. A gentle and kind spirit. I remembered once when I was a tot, I couldn’t sleep, I really wanted to snuggle in with my mom - but my dad told me I had to sleep in my own bed. I stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours. And then this white dove appeared and flew softly down to my face and then retreated to the ceiling and was gone. Was I dreaming? Most definitely, but why do I still remember it like it happened last night? Maybe it was a gift I could hold onto my entire life. I lie in bed wondering many late nights if the dove will ever visit me again.

 As I was drinking my coffee, I thought to myself, this does not feel like my life. How did I end up living a life that doesn’t feel like I am in it?  All these questions just stared me in the face. I had those thoughts several times that year. And then I met you. I thought it was a dream, you could read my mind, I thought you were a dream. We fell passionately in love, intensely in love – my body, my heart, my world opened up everything was throbbing and alive. It was metaphysical, cosmic for sure. I had never felt that way for anyone not even with the person I spent 22 years knowing - that was a different kind of love, foundational, permanent and lasting. You and me wrote our own story, we were chemistry, we were stardust, we were destined to be together. We were the art of poetry and the poetry of art.  It was bigger than both of us, how could I be so lucky to meet someone that fit me like a glove. I remember describing you as a feather - light and gentle. There was no weight just a breeze to be around you. Our rocket took off before liftoff and we were sprinting to our new life together. We couldn’t run fast enough but we were both in good shape and we didn’t stop until we arrived. It was exciting, thrilling, crazy and wonderful. Until I woke up and didn’t think I deserved that life with you somehow our timing was off. Our chemistry started changing. We were at an art opening together and the Dean at the time asked me why I would stay here and I said for love. That was the perfect reason, it was all I had – love, a lot of love, so much love. It certainly had a life at one time. “It was a simple twist of fate.”

You tried to save us, save me but I was drowning and felt hopeless. It was time to go because our timing was off, we met at the wrong time — “you were born too soon and I was born too late.” I was still living outside myself. I left you notes for the future, the future me, I wanted you to remember I was special and we were special. Eternal sunshine, a cellular glimpse that the stardust doesn’t go away they are atoms like us…and spores like a mushroom and spreads like mycelium.

The moment I left, I started shedding my skin, shedding my former life, shedding layers. I realized the divorce and you changed everything in my orbit, sadness turned into melancholia and remembering turned into nostalgia. , I heard Patti Smith in an interiew say she didn’t live in her sadness but voluntarily visits it and takes walks with her memories — she was referring to her former husband who died and Robert Mapplethorpe her life long lover and freind. I am an artist and I draw from my dark places, it’s comforting and it’s okay. But now, it was time to do some soul searching – who am I? After a year of mourning another loss, I decided to move, not for love this time, or a divorce but a voice underneath my skin asking to breathe. I spent a month on the road, slept outside, drank bad coffee, hung out at truck stops and flirted with truckers. I loved hearing their stories, because they were worse than mine, stories of death, loss, divorces, fires and terrible accidents. Some wanted me to go on the road with them, see their house, ride their Harley and go to Sturgis. Every line in their face told another story.  I couldn’t hold a candle to their narratives. But one thing I was feeling - was alive!!!  For crying out loud, I made it to the other side. I camped at KOAs in Texas, watched the sunset in Utah, swam in the Colorado river, I was alone and I was fine, yes, alive and okay – lighter, because a heaviness in my heart had lifted sometime during this trip. The hole in my stomach eating my body from the inside out was starving. I was hungry for life. That is the moment I noticed the stardust everywhere. It was illuminating and coruscating like the ending to the film by Lars von Trier “Melancholia.” I saw it on the trucks, over the canyons, in the air and at night when I was dreaming. It was pouring down. I had found myself in my life. I wasn’t afraid, felt fearless again, all those insecurities vanished as I lie there outside looking up in the dark sky letting the stars wrap around me and hold me through the night. Most of all, I was excited to get up in the morning, intoxicated by being on the road, like I had somewhere to go. Blast the music in my jeep and sang old country songs that made me laugh and cry. I’d drive until sunset and start looking for my next KOA. My favorite truck stop is “Loves” with a big red heart. Some truck stops have turned into shopping centers, every garish item imaginable. My key chain collection got more kitsch by the mile.  

Driving across the country with no expectations made me realize I had changed. I was waking up to a person that was inside their life, in my skin. Back in a landscape I could finally access and hold. Although, it felt like something more was going on like all the things naked to the eye became alive…we are all stardust. Timing is everything. Thank you, magpies, I saw something in you that was in me that I didn’t recognize that morning in Alberta but do now - resiliency. I am more alive today than I’ve been in my entire life. Eventually, I found my way home where I could sleep next to my mother and hold hands. A place of unconditional and nurturing love. I still lie awake at night waiting for my dove to reappear. I wanted to give this story as an offering of peace and a reflection on life. My thoughts often drift to Pablo Neruda’s words, “Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bittersweet hour of your life.”