The World Is Yours

CC Skye “Celestial” ring $150, CC Skye.com

Sitting in the jacuzzi, I watch the steam bubble off the water black with night, the spa breathing puffs of gray floating towards golden city lights.

My seat in the hot tub is like a throne: the Los Angeles night is laid out for me, though the kingdom looks like a miniature of itself, like a smart cut of cardboard glittering with yesterday’s Christmas lights.

I watch a tiny car silently buzz along the coast, but even the automobile doesn’t scale the city for me: it all looks fake. “Can you believe that each of those lights is a home, is whole world into itself, full of people the center of their own universes?” I ask.

“You can’t see house lights from here,” says The Boy. “Those are all street lights.”

“Even way up in the Hollywood hills?” I look at a dark silhouette melting in the sky, a hump of land sunny days have shown to be a pricey mound of dirt littered with houses. The hills are freeways away, but I think if I stretch my hand far enough out of the steaming water I can grab them, and crumble their earth in my fist.

“Yeah,” says The Boy. “Look how equally spaced the lights are.”

I blink, I look again, and I still just see this twinkling diorama of life, that, “Looks so unreal.” I pillow my head on my arms, on the cool tile of the spa. My mind crystalizes, and I realize my brain’s a world of its own world: so I decide that all the lights barely beyond my reach are sparks of homes. The truth is as clear as the city’s stars’ reflection in the hot tub, but then I slap the water and splash away the mirror image. It all looks fake, anyway.

Like the sky above.

I watch a plane jet into the black air, and realize that its red and white blinking dots mark the path of hundreds of passengers, each with their own story, their own worlds. I blink, and the jet is lost in the sky. “It looks like black velvet that someone poked holes into for stars,” I say. I tip my head back so my neck aches; my discomfort is a fair price for the view of earth’s glittering ceiling.

“Yeah, Exactly what I was thinking.” The Boy backs into me, fingering my nakedness. “Do you see Orion’s belt up there?” I lean further backwards, he kisses my neck. “Look at all those little dots. Whole universes completely unaware of us.”

I look at him and realize the world’s not contained in a lousy grain of sand, but in each inch of skin that he lights up with his finger tips. “Who cares.”

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