Star-gazing

Last night there was a meteor shower. Some of my friends and I bundled up and headed out around 11:30, stopped at Taco Bell for some Mountain Dew and nachos (because that's what we're fueled by, mostly) and drove until we could see stars.
It took a while.
I get bothered about stars every once in a while. There's so much light pollution in Canton that's it's futile to look up. I can only see the brightest stars. I can't see the Milky Way. Sometimes panic jumps up into my throat when I wonder if someday Millersburg will be like that, too. When I go home, I can see the Summer Triangle and Cassiopeia and even Draco, which is the hardest for me to find and sometimes I think I'm making it up as I go along, connecting stars that aren't meant to be connected. Still, the orange haze of civilization is already creeping up around the horizon of my house on the hill, and it's only a matter of time before I won't be able to see anything but streetlights and cars. I already feel isolated. Human beings are already consumed with ourselves. If we can't see the rest of the galaxy, how will we remember that we aren't the only thing that matters, aren't the only things that are breathtakingly beautiful, aren't the only thing that God created?
We started driving through fields and past Amish houses (you can tell they're Amish because they don't have shutters) and started wondering aloud where we should stop. Laura said we should just stop in a field someplace. I didn't want to because people have private property and I didn't want to get shot.
We stopped in a field someplace.
Sarah and I brought our guitars, but it was too cold to play, and we were close enough to houses that we decided it was best to stay as quiet as it's possible for four girls to be after midnight. So we put down a blanket and flung ourselves into a heap on top of it, and covered up with each other and more blankets. Then we looked at the stars.
At first, everything was overcast, and we could only see things out of the corners of our eyes. We weren't even sure if we were seeing stars or if our eyes were tired and beginning to fail us. Then a tiny hole in the clouds appeared and we could clearly see Orion's belt. Sarah started pointing out constellations that I didn't even know, and told us that she used to want to be an astronomer. As we waited for the clouds to blow away, Chelsea regaled us with stand-up comedy routines she's memorized and then just told us stories of her own. Laura flipped out every time a new star was visible.
I laughed until my stomach hurt and I couldn't feel the cold anymore.
I looked away for a second, and everyone gasped. "Did you see that! That was a giant one!" Laura practically yelled. Everyone had seen the first meteor of the night but me. I looked back up at the sky, and before long there was another. As the night grew colder, we snuggled closer together and gasped when another piece of space shot across the sky.
Eventually the clouds covered the stars again, and we all packed our stuff up and drove back to Malone. Laura cranked up the heat, and I almost fell asleep, covered in blankets and friendship. I crawled into bed, exhausted but complete.
I don't think I ever could have given myself a better life than God has.