A boisterous evening of stars

Brian and the River Buddha. Photo by David Lansing.

Last night, I slept outside. The boisterous night sky kept me away. Stars rattled and clamored like small-time hoodlums, the nervous ones bunched together like champagne grapes; loners smirked in inky corners; gangs of constellations flashed their homeboy signs—Aries, Taurus, Leon. A startling rebel streaked across the inky sky, flaming, burning up in oblivion. Mars glowered hotly above it all. Luna, just a shadow of her former self, hid behind a crescent smile.

While I watched the nighttime show, I listened to Rainer snoring like thunder in his sleep. It was epic. I couldn’t imagine how anyone—particularly Brian, his partner, could sleep through it.

In the morning, Sarah Jane, our cook, who does not take shit from anyone, glared at the table of groggy campers as we sipped our camp coffee. She put her hands on her hip and, glaring at all of us, said, “All right…who was the pig that was snoring so loud last night I couldn’t sleep.”

Everyone stared sheepish into his coffee except Rainer who looked at her placidly and said, “Me. I’m the pig that snores. I am the River Buddha and I snore to let myself know I sleep.“

He put on his sunglasses and tilted his head back to face the morning sun. None of us spoke. Even Arlo, sitting at the head of the table, like dad, was silent. We were all waiting to see what Sarah Jane was going to do.

And what did she do? Nothing. Not a word. She put a plate of flapjacks on the table and walked away. But it wasn’t until she got all the way back to her camp kitchen that any of us dared to laugh.