Borealis Mystery

"Salma, come see this, now!" he yells, urgently, by the kitchen door. He runs back inside, to the window, to the vision and the miracle. It can't be explained otherwise. His eyes widen with the vision outside, for on the cloudiest sky of the month there's a beautiful wave of colors. He knows this phenomenon, and has actually been wishing to see one his whole life.

"What, what is it?" she urges, running to where her boyfriend is staying. By the kitchen window, he looks outside with open eyes and a wide mouth, amazed by what he's seeing. She looks outside and there it is, the sky, the clouds, the colors that awkwardly fit. They form a long wave across the horizon, an unknown extension up there like she has never seen before. Yet she knows what it is. He's been talking about this for so long, about how gorgeous it should be, how magical too. And in fact, it is. She is astonished, looking up and outside through the glass that's a little fogged from the cold.

"Let's take a closer look," he whispers, excited. His heart's beating fast, his hands trembling with surprise. It's been so long since he's seen anything so beautiful, pretty much close to ten years since he felt this amazed by a simple turn of Nature. It has definitely surprised him a couple of times, but never like this. He is watching his childhood dream come true, tonight when the snow doesn't fall and the wind numbs his face when he steps out the door.

"Don't go outside, are you crazy?" she calls after him, reaching for his hand, but missing. He's running by now, having opened the door and fled to the porch of their house. It's freezing outside, it's the middle of January, the first days of snow have come last week and the soil, the sky, the air is chilling her bones – he must have gone crazy, fleeing out the door with the cold breeze coming from the dark night.

"I could get sick over this every fucking day," he says. He's absolutely marveled by this. Aurora Borealis, the beautiful episode of Nature forming right in front of his eyes. He's heard so much about it, from his grandfather who lived many, many years in the Northest lands of Europe and brought stories of colored skies and magical wonders with him, and also from his mother who told many, many times the tale of the fairy that visited his dream and produced a child in her. Aurora Borealis, it's almost his family heritage and he suddenly can't believe that G− he's not with him, right now, sharing the moment, the rarity, the astonishment.

"Don't say that like it doesn't hurt, okay," she insists, but steps outside as well. This is something completely new to her, something she only heard about when she met him and his family stories; his past became a sudden passion for her. It's full of magic and marvels and fairytales.

"I mean it, it's so beautiful," he says and takes more steps further, further outside, closer to this vision. It's real and amazing, several colors mixing in the skies, filling them up with life and curves and basic waves. He cannot contain his happiness and releases a minute sound. It's private, but she seems to have listened as she is closer now, grabbing his hand, holding him close to keep him from the cold. He can't keep his feelings inside, though. He turns and kisses her.

"It is, I have never seen anything this beautiful," she responds, afterwards. Her lips linger close to his mouth for minutes and twenty seconds, not expecting a new kiss, but waiting for the wonderful passion to calm down. It amazes her whenever they're close, because she's his and he's hers, and sharing a gorgeous moment is something she will never forget, never deny.

"I have," he breaks the moment. She seems to be in peace, but he dares to disturb it. There has been something, someone equally beautiful in his life, but it's been ten years now. He knows she's not afraid of that past person, the one who was there one day and the other was in a coffin, the one who took his heart far away for years and years, and months and months before he found this woman.

"I bet you have," is what she says, and he knows she means it. She has never said a single lie to him, not about this. This man's past haunted him for a long time, but she's been there to guide him through what's difficult. She's been there to help him out, to listen to him and talk to him, to simply lead a life with him in the house and town and life he has share with someone else. She was ready to take over that dead existence in the past and here she is, holding on, having listened to many stories, many beautiful tales of I miss him and I love you, both in the same cry.

"Thank you." His reverence to her attitude is all he can give. Someone found him and left him behind, he has to live with the memory and the missing, but he also has her. She, who he loves so much and respects and admires, for all the things she has listened and supported him through. There is no way he can forget that, because she has been the thread he's hanging on to. She is the leading lady, the bear in his jungle that keeps him away from pain and disaster. She's there and he's thankful.

"Let me get our coats and we can sit outside. This is worth watching under this cold." She smiles and receives his smile, happily. She goes inside with no thoughts at all and comes back with two coats, two scarves and still no thoughts.

"Sit on these steps with me," he requests, gently. It's the only way he knows how to speak to her.

"I will." She does.

"Tell me his story," she asks, not for the first time in her life. It's a story that makes her sad, but teaches her a little more about her boyfriend every single time he tells it. She adores listening to it, and she knows that thinking of this someone will bring happier dreams to his nights. She believes so and wishes she could guide him in his dreams, to know what he sees and understand better what he feels.

"If you insist," he says, calmly. His voice is low and mild, tender with the same respect, tender with the love from the past. Those memories that bring him peace, when everyone said he would forget them to avoid the pain. He wants them in. He wants to remember and understand why he was happy for those long years, with the man he has loved the most in his life.

She closes her eyes and imagines. The man behind her eyelids, his name was Gareth. His eyes were hazel, his hair black like raven feathers and his heart was pure gold, extracted directly from a mine with care and love. Gareth infatuated him fast, with his manners, his simplicity, and the way he had of finishing sentences and completing thoughts. It was beautiful to share, ten years in the past.

They worked together, Gareth and him. Both engineers, with that passion for planes and the ideals for a larger future, with wider flights and larger wings. They planned planes together, built planes together, told jokes, sang songs, smiled and laughed together. In the end, they bought a house together and shared it for many years, but their passion broke them apart. One single plane test and Gareth was gone, minimized, destroyed by the power they had built. Together.

Gareth was left barely recognizable and he, this poor Philip, was left completely heartless.

"You always tell it differently," she claims, softly. There are no more tears in her eyes when she hears this story, but there's a deep sigh within her lungs. It's out before she controls her core.

"It's a tale of love and passion, fortune that led to loss. I can't use the same words all the time or it'll lose all its power," he replies, still calm. If there is something telling this tale does to him is giving him peace, controlling his fear of solitude because he is telling it to her, the lady that leads him into the future with soft steps.

"I think it even made the Aurora shine brighter," she says.

"You're delirious." He smiles, willingly. He loves playing games with her. "Yet your words are delicious. Thank you for listening to me again."

"Don't worry. I will always listen," she assures. It's simple but truthful.

Later, when they're eating the simple dinner, the Aurora shining through the window, still in the skies, still in their minds, a knock comes to the door. Philip gets up and goes to open.

And Gareth comes in.

"I'm sorry, I lost my keys somehow, must have left them in the car. I'll look for them later, okay," he says, hurriedly, taking off his coat and gloves, putting them down on the entry table in the corner. "I'm sorry, but I don’t feel like going out tonight. I'm a little tired, and it's so cold. I hope you don't mind having dinner here, with the radio on, who knows, maybe they'll play your favorite song. Is that okay?"

He turns around and faces Philip. His face, the one he's missed, his eyes, the ones he's loved, his smile, the one he's never forgotten. The simplicity again, the caring steps closer and the rubbing of his hands to warm them up from the cold. Those are all old habits that he hasn't seen in ten years. This vision should not be this accurate. It's an insult to Gareth's memory.

"Philip, are you okay?" Gareth asks. The voice is the one he's heard so many times, yelling coordinates on a plane, reading books out loud in bed, whispering directly in his ear using that sweet tone. Ten years, Philip thinks, ten years and I see him just the same.

When the touch comes, it's real. The skin is cold and the fingers, soft, so much that Philip gasps with the surprise. He's not ready for this kind of games, his mind's shut to any thoughts because Gareth came in like ten years have not passed since he's been gone. He's gone, how is he here?

"Gareth?" He blinks. "What− How−"

"You need me to get you something?"

"What's going on?" Salma finally intervenes, her voice sharp and sounding like she doesn't know what's going on. In the kitchen she could hear voices, but not determine the words or even the tones. She stops in her tracks from the kitchen to the foyer. She has seen that face before and rubs her eyes in disbelief. She still asks, "Who's this?"

"What − who are you?" Gareth sounds offended.

"You can't be," Philip says in another moment of astonishment. The second in one night, for different reasons, both of them dreams he recalled in those minutes he spent out on the doorstep with her.

"What?" Both voices spoke, confident, unaltered.

"You're dead."

"No I'm not," Gareth responds, matter-of-factly. It sounds very real, very original, familiar too.

"I saw the explosion, I saw the fucking−" he starts, then stops. Then starts again. "I had to−" and stops, not able to go on. So much went on ten years ago, so much that he does not want to remember. Not now, and honestly − not ever.

"You're not making any sense, alright," Gareth claims, assertive of what he's saying. If this is some sort of game, Philip does not think it's funny at all. "I'm right here, you can see me. I just touched you. I'm here. I'm alive."

"Who is he, Philip? I'm sure he can't be− not after ten−" she mumbles, shaking her head. This scene is shooting her mind down, not letting her think straight. Minutes ago, she listened to the story of Gareth and his death, his meaning to Philip's life, and now she's living the real deal, the real connection between the two men. It's so obvious how it interferes with his movements, the trembling in his voice, the trembling in his hands. Philip never acts this way, unless he's telling his story.

"You're dead," he whispers, tearfully. His eyes burn with emotion and his heart beats so fast he can feel the pulse in his stomach, deep down where nothing but the love from the past can reach. He's sure of that. "Gareth, you died."

"Look, I don't know what's going on with you, who she is and what she's doing here when I just went to visit our friends and bring them your cake. Explain to me?" he speaks, his tone smooth.

"No." Philip shakes his head, vehemently, the way he totally means to disagree with what's being said. And what's being felt, because his whole body is reacting to this vision of Gareth, one that cannot be real after ten years since Philip had to identify his bodiless, exploded head. It was horrible; it's not something he would forget. "This can't be real, you can't be real. I saw you. You were−"

"How can I be dead?!"

"I saw your body, and the explosion! It was massive, everybody saw it," he exclaims, hands going over his head, up into the air, then falling to his hair. It's despair he's starting to feel, because this rush of emotions shouldn't be happening. He's actually living a new life, with Salma, the woman who won his heart with tattoo art and beautiful writing skills. He's happy and the past never came to haunt him, not until that knock on the door.

"What are you talking about?" Gareth's voice says, Gareth's mouth moves, Gareth's eyes seek the truth in Philip's. It's so intense and patient that Philip cannot stand to look. He turns his head to the floor, to Salma, as she says,

"Tell him your story." She sounds so calm, like Philip's heart beating for nothing.

"Calm down," Gareth − Gareth, the man from ten years ago, from when Philip had his first chance at sleeping in a large bed − Gareth says, requests, the tone of voice he's always used to hold Philip's hand and caress his hair and whisper his name softly. Until ten years ago. Except that he does it now, ten years in the future. It's not possible, not in a million of Philip's dreams.

"Are you trying to prove something?" he asks, leaning against the wall as Salma stays put. She's still silent, staying at the back of the conversation, having only spoken to support his dialogue lines. But she goes away and he's left with Gareth – or this version of him, in this time that is not really his. Philip touches his face. It's real and it feels the same. He remembers, he will never forget.

"You can't be here, you're−" He shakes his head. His hand's still in place, touching Gareth's mouth, feeling the breaths coming out, the proof that it's a living body here in his foyer.

"I'm not, I'm here, Philip." He grasps Philip's hands, brings it down, laces fingers with it. It's personal and touching, warm in the cold air that has filled the winter streets outside. Out the door where Gareth just came in, ten years late. "It's me, Gareth, who else could I be? You're my boyfriend, I'm yours. We work at the hangar, right, both engineers, fell in love while testing planes. We went to Chicago on our first date, you flew us there and back, and no one knew. We had fresh, warm bagels, ate it together when we sat in a park watching the pigeons. You hate pigeons, I had to hold your hand − like this − and shoo them away when they beaked on crumbs nearby!"

"How can you know that?" Philip whispers, taken aback by the emotion. He's relieving years and years of a loving relationship in a single moment, it's flashing in front of his eyes like it's meant to happen while you're on your deathbed.

"Because it's me, if you want I can−" And he does. Gareth leans and kisses Philip again. It's the same touch, the same feeling, texture, taste and sound. The lips move softly, capturing Philip's slowly, seeming slightly fearful to touch and mingle and lose themselves in a heap of kiss pleasure love. It's the same everything, lips mouth and tongue, it's Gareth and there is nothing that can prove this kiss wrong. It's been lingering on Philip's lips for ten years, waiting to be taken again by the perfect touch. It's here, the kiss and the man.

Gareth's alive?

"How can you be here?" Philip talks when Gareth pulls back and looks at him. The eyes, the lines in the corners, they're the ones he memorized so many times so that he would never forget this man. And he hasn't, not in ten years, and not in a million years if they had passed. Even if Philip has to try really hard to remember the living Gareth and not let the unrecognizable face he stared at in the end drive him mad.

"It's been ten years," Salma says. Her words are scarce, but she's there. Philip feels her presence through her breaths and his thoughts that pass through her when he thinks of what has passed.

"Ten years," Gareth repeats, questioning, unsure like there is something he can't tell the meaning of. "It's been ten years since what, what are you talking about?"

"Since 2001, the hot summer day, I remember the heat and your complaints. You were testing a plane − with Jack−"

"With Georgia?" Gareth interrupts, abrupt, loud. "When he lost his memory, he could remember he was from Georgia!"

"Yes, Jack. The explosion, Gareth, you were in it. There were only pieces of you left and I couldn't− I couldn't put them together again."

"Like you promised." Gareth can't know all this without being real, Philip feels it deep inside him.

"Yeah, we once did−"

"Don't cry, Philip. I'm right here." Gareth sounds so soothing, it's so beautiful. Philip missed this presence, the voice, the calm, all the details that made Gareth the man who took Philip's heart at first sight, at their first date, while sharing their first kiss. It had been everything at first try, which still seems astonishing to Philip. "Maybe you had a weird dream."

"And dreamt of detailed events for ten years?" Salma asks the air. Silence comes in answer. No one can know what to say, when the facts Philip has lived told him it's been ten years, and the facts Gareth represents state that it hasn't. "That's insane. And why would I be here if they hadn't been real?"

"I don't know," Philip and Gareth say at the same time. They've done that a lot through the years.

Salma gets up and strolls to the foyer window. Philip follows her, squeezing Gareth's hand before turning his back on him. The ruffle of his heavy clothes sounds through the foyer, but he doesn't follow them to the window. The window is tall and thin, he can see their figures on the glass, smoky and grey from the fogged up surface, but he can also look outside. The clouded skies, the snowed-on ground, it's a gorgeous night despite the winter cold and the unexplainable breeze. And the Aurora Borealis in the horizon brings colors to everything surrounding them.

"Have you seen this, Gareth?" Philip suddenly remembers. That amazing sight in front of him, he has never witnessed it before, not even in the wonderful love the two men shared. He calls his old-like-leaves love to see this too. It's too dreamy to not be shared, but Gareth doesn't come. And Philip doesn't look back.

Then, he remembers something else, something old from the stories his grandfather brought from Europe. "You know, there's a few beliefs stating that the Aurora Borealis can travel across time and space. Some even consider crossing galaxies, so maybe−"

"Maybe Gareth came back from the dead?" Salma asks, timidly.

"I am not dead," Gareth persists in telling them. Philip sighs because he wishes so. "I've never been dead, or I wouldn't stand here before you, Philip. We're not in Ludlow and this isn't a horror novel!"

Philip turns around, with a smile at the remarkable reference Gareth makes. They've read that book in bed a lot, Stephen King's Pet Sematary, sometimes the whole book in a sequence of twelve nights, others just their favorite lines to understand the dangerous condition of life and death. He doesn't speak anything related to it, though, he tells his theory, his sudden reminiscence. "Maybe you traveled all the way from the past, from before the plane test."

"December 13, 2000," Gareth declares. Philip feels his eyes blinking.

"December 13, 2011," Salma corrects, her voice harsh behind Philip's head. His ears ring with the two dates.

He can't exactly tell what happened in the past, but he can say that this present is bittersweet. He has to remember a love he lost to an explosion, the ten years he spent without Gareth, missing Gareth, wanting his warm feet in bed and his warm-hearted tales every Halloween. It's ten Halloweens, too many anniversaries to celebrate with a death creeping inside his heart. It hurts. It hurts so much that he can only accept it as true. Gareth is here, back from the past, with Philip, and Salma and the years in between.

"The Aurora brought you here by mistake," Salma mentions, her voice mild. She doesn't mean to offend. It's just awkward to stand in the middle of a foyer with the two men who loved each other so much until 2001, the one man she has heard so many stories about, the one man whose death she has helped Philip cope with. Gareth is here now, though, and he's haunting this night. Bringing the past to haunt them is cruel.

"How?" Gareth asks.

"Who knows?" Philip murmurs, dreamily. He knows his tone sounds like it and doesn't try to hide it. He's missed Gareth a lot, wanted him back for five years after the explosion and ten years later, here he is. Back from the past by a phenomenon Philip has always longed to see. It's two miracles in one night, it suddenly feels like nothing could be better.

"I want to know," Gareth says, watching Philip from the same position. Philip, though, he's walking closer, reaching out for Gareth's hand, wanting to touch, wanting to feel him again. It's been so long, too long, but it's finally here. Philip's 2001 prayers finally came but with a ten year delay.

"Don't question my gifts," he utters, slowly. It's weird, he knows that, but he can't help it. It's like he's dreaming, walking on the clouds, stepping on the Aurora itself. There are colors in the outer skies, filling the clouds, bringing his dream to life and in this house, he gets to see Gareth again. He could never not want that.

When he's close enough, he kisses Gareth for the second time after a gap of years, a gap when he thought Gareth was dead. And he was, but is back now and that is something no one can refuse, or take back now. He wants to enjoy this. But first−

"Salma," he calls. "Are you mad at me for wanting him here?"

"I can't be," she says, still calm. This hasn't affected her mind at all. She knows it's very important to Philip and the only thing she wants is to see him happy and smiling. She says so and adds, "I've wished many times to meet him, after those stories you always told, that I always asked you to tell, so yes. You have my blessing. Enjoy the Aurora, Philip, just take me on this ride too."

And the three lovers, from 2001 to 2011, filling a gap that can't be filled otherwise, they spend a night together. They talk and smile, sit outside, share the doorstep and a thick blanket, Philip in the middle of the people he's loved so much for so long. Gareth for longer, Salma a more recent passion, but still a passion, someone he wants close to him for her magnificence and her glow every time she looks at him. She's happy, he likes that. And Gareth doesn't seem uncomfortable, talks and talks and talks like he used to, has many things to tell, some Philip realizes he might have heard before but he doesn't care. Gareth came back with the Aurora and Salma stays.

The horizon still shines with the Aurora. It's still beautiful. Still a miracle. Still a dream come true.

The night prolongs and the cold wind starts buzzing in their ears. Gareth suggests, "We better go inside. Your lungs always hated this wind."

Salma looks at him, perplexed. She's said that herself more than once in her life with Philip. She gets up after them, follows them inside, always a couple of steps behind and watches the two men together. It's beautiful, as stunning as the colored skies outside, to see how much they care and love and share. She's heard something from stories and tales, but witnessing it first hand can't be compared to the most brilliant saga. Gareth looks at Philip with love, Philip looks at him like he's learning to love all over again, like a boy in wonder with an older friend he hasn't seen in years. But it's more than that, they're lovers and friends, companions of many adventures on planes and on the ground and with their dreams that fell down a cliff and crashed in 2001. Salma reminds herself of what day it is and suddenly everything makes sense to her, the cold, the Aurora Borealis, the opportunity she and Philip were given. It's more than coincidence, more than just an act of Nature.

It's meant to be.

She follows them through the foyer, the living room, the hall and the stairs. Straight to the bedroom, she thinks of not going in, Philip might want to be alone. So maybe she should give him a chance. It's been ten years since he last saw and kissed Gareth, and he's been so true and good to her that she can give him something unique in return. She stops by the bedroom door, ready to speak up.

"Come in," Gareth says, surprising Philip. He looks at Gareth, sly in his movements, but it doesn't matter. He gets to be with both of them and it will be wonderful, an experience he's never even imagined.

Salma obeys and she lies in the big bed, next to Philip, who's next to Gareth. They are a strange love triangle, one that is approved by the three of them and the bond that connects them. It's the past, the stories and the Aurora outside. Thinking of it, Salma gets up, ignores the complaints and goes to open the window. It's turned to the front of the house and they get to see the view, clouded skies, snowed-on roofs, colorful Aurora Borealis. It's cold, yet warm and amazing.

She listens as they whisper, on her way back to the bed.

"I missed you so, so much." It's a hidden caress behind Gareth's ear, before the man dies again. There's hope in his tone, as well as a hidden wish.

"Shh, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, shh," is the immediate response. It's bittersweet.

She lies back down in the big bed.

Philip draws an arm around her neck, pulls her close, keeps her there. Gareth's on the other side, on his side of the bed although it's a different bed, because if there's something Philip knows, it's respect. His feet are cold, but his soul is complete. Gareth is here. Salma is here. He is complete.

The night grows long and amazing, and they all struggle to stay awake. Salma goes out first, then Philip, sleep slowly overtaking them because the Aurora says so. It's commanding every thing that takes place tonight, no way to ignore its power and the expected results.

The dawning sun comes and something shines with it, the glow hurting Philip's eyes. His eyes open, suddenly. He wanted to stay up all night, tell Gareth everything he had been through, let him know how much he was missed, now that he understood what had brought them together in a rare and special night.

When he looks to the right side of the bed, Gareth is not there. Only the shadow of his body where he lay on the sheets.

On his other side, Salma stirs awake. Philip wants to be sure that his mind’s not– "Salma, Salma, do you remember?"

She mumbles, turns to him, grabs his chest and squeezes. "Is he still here?" she asks, hurried. She wants to make sure everything is alright with Philip, no matter what the next answer is.

"He's gone." The gulp that follows suggests many emotions. Salma squeezes him a little more. It's all she can do for now. In the future, she will be able to show him the support he needs, because of this hole in his heart and in his life, the hole Gareth's death left behind. He might be dead, but Salma's here and she will help.

"Shh, Philip, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, shh," she says, perfectly aware of her words.

They're simple and repeated, but she means them. She wants Philip to memorize them. The memory of last night is not to be erased. If Nature brought the Aurora to their country and it brought Gareth back for one night, it has to mean something. It cannot be empty and for nothing, not after the raw emotions it brought back and the confusion it caused at first.

It's a hidden message for Philip to hold on to and Salma will be here for him, winter after winter.

The end.