"Come over here."
You tried to pull me into the light from the porchlamp, and I was being stubborn, leaning over the rail to listen to the soothing lullaby of saltwater smoothing sand.
"No. I like it over here. The light is too bright...and you can't see the stars."
Not like you could see them anyway, with the Gulf Coast smear of carbon monoxide obscuring both sky and moon indiscriminately. But still. For the sake of arguing, I decided that you could see the stars if you looked hard enough.
And you smiled. I always melt when you smile - you knew it then, you know it now. So you grabbed my hand when I was offguard and pulled me into the little puddle of harsh white glow that spilled from the floodlights over our heads. I looked up. You couldn't see the stars, or the moon. Just a couple of distant fireworks and clouds.
"That wasn't fair, you know."
I crossed my arms over my chest and pouted. I always thought I looked cuter scowling than I did when I was grinning. And then you lifted my chin with your hand, forced me to look you in the eye.
"I know. But you know what?"
You wrapped your arms around my waist, and danced to some of the strains of invisble music that always run through your head.
"I can see you better in the light."