A short story by Aspen Menemenci.

In the recurring dream I don’t tell anyone about, we sat in the dewy patch of grass next to the gentle glow of the pool lights. The atmosphere hung heavy like never before. August had returned once more, and there I sat, mistaking gnats for stars again.

We rested on the beige sweater I had laid out to separate us from the damp grass, heedless of the fact that it had been my favorite sweater for the past year. On that night, it wasn’t my feelings that had occupied the forefront of my thoughts but rather an ardent devotion to hers. We sat, our backs together, gazing at the twinkling stars and eagerly anticipating the bright flashes that were supposed to grace the sky.

 It had been the night of the annual Perseid meteor shower, August 12th. In the dream I don’t tell anyone, this would be our third year watching the Persied together. The grass still clawed at my feet the same as it did three years ago, and I was still in the same position, a storyteller romanticizing the unbearable heat of summer.

I wished it wasn’t so bright in the city, then we could’ve seen more stars. Lights from the Hard Rock pierced the night, beaming spot-on in the direction of our gaze, casting a luminous glow. She let out a heavy sigh, laced with disappointment. I didn’t particularly care about the vivid flashes in the sky, but I cared deeply about her happiness, so I allowed her to be lost in her thoughts, her head resting comfortably on my shoulder.

I yawned, and she asked me if I was tired and wanted to go inside. I said no because when we went back into the house, the dream ended, and I didn’t want the dream to end. In the dream I don’t tell anyone about, I lied to her for the first time.