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When Ray is four, he learns about the solar system. He learns about the galaxies, the planets, the stars, the moons and the infinite being that is called the Universe. He reads about comets and asteroid belts, satellites and rockets and realises how insignificant he is compared to the life around him. He’s so small, so minuscule, how could he hope to be anything more than a small particle that breathes and dies and is eventually forgotten?
While Emma sings her song to remember the planets, with Norman dutifully applauding her, he sees the sun in the sky that lights up the meadows around him. The sun is large, that is obvious without the help of a book, the sun is what gives them life, what provides everything with life. It’s warm and makes him feel fuzzy when it’s just him, the sun’s light, the blue skies and the sound of laughter. He thinks the sun is a happy thing, even though it’s a raging ball of fire that could burn him in an instant. But he doesn’t think about the realities, and so he settles for the sun to be associated with bright mornings, cosy afternoons, Mama’s kindness, Emma’s giggles and Norman’s smiles.
Emma is the sun. Emma is his sun. Emma lights up his world and he doesn’t know how she does it. She’s loud and annoying sometimes, she‘s always all over the place, full of energy. Full of life. Emma is his sun because she makes him feel warm inside and he doesn’t know what he’d do without her. Emma gives him life and she gives him a reason to live. When he sees Emma, fiery orange curls on top of her head, he’s glad that he can look at this sun without his eyes burning. He can feel the life thrumming through her veins, and sometimes he’s envious because, how can one person have this much life within them? Now he doesn’t want the light to die out, so he vows to protect her, and even if he can’t see the light anymore, he'd do everything to make sure everyone else sees her light. Emma’s light.
Like a burning fire.
While Norman buries his little head in his side, with Emma sprawled over them, he sees the moon in a sea of darkness, a beacon of hope even when there’s just black nothingness. The moon shines through the night, as the sun does through the day, and it’s ever so soothing and calm. It’s not burning with life, but it preserves it in its rocky terrain, silvery and ethereal. He learns that the moon gets its light from the sun, but that doesn’t make it any less important. For him, the moon is associated with pleasant nights, cool midnight breezes, Mama’s hugs, Emma’s comfort and Norman’s knowing gazes filled with love.
Norman is the moon. Norman is his moon. Norman shows him the beauty of the world and he doesn’t know how Norman sees it. He’s calm and thoughtful, rational and can always keep up with Emma. Norman is his moon because he grounds him, brings him back to reality and holds him when he feels like he is drowning and falling and losing control, Norman’s the shimmer of hope that descends from the night sky. When he sees Norman, silvery hair on top of his head, he’s glad that he can be close to this moon without staring longingly out the window after a nightmare. Norman is his moon because he thought that he’d be the one consistency in his life, but he’s not, because Norman changes a lot like the moon throughout a month and then there’s a night with no moon (that night without the moon lasts for 2 years, 7 months and 29 days) and when he sees the moon again, Norman’s completely changed. And he’s confused, how can someone become different so quickly? But he doesn’t want the night to be shrouded in darkness, so he vows to protect him, and even if his nights are plagued with shadows and blackness, he’d do everything to make sure no one else has to be scared of the night.
When the sky fades from blue to black, when the sun’s rays flicker and the moon’s glow brightens, the sky sparkles with stars, that twinkle against the dark backdrop. Some nights the stars hide behind the grey clouds and other nights they glitter immaculately, unafraid, never alone. The stars are always there though, buried in the heavenly blue of the day, they shine all day, every day. They aren’t noticed, the sun is far too superior, as it outshines their combined effort and they are a nice accessory in the night sky, a complimentary touch to the glazed moon. When have they ever captivated him?
Emma loves to star gaze, she points at them giddy and raw amazement radiates from her core.
“Don’t they look magical?” She whispers against the hushing wind and eery calm of the night, hand in hand as they lay across the grass, “Do you think they ever get tired?”
“Of what?” He remembers asking.
“Shining.”
The stars shine, he does not know why, but they do. They don’t compare to the sun, they don’t provide life or warmth and they could never light up the entire night sky on their own, they don’t pull and push the waves or calm him down in the middle of the night.
“I think you should appreciate the stars more often,” Norman says, after he names a few constellations, “they are missed on cloudy nights.”
The stars exist to be inferior to the sun and second to the moon. But the stars are missed when they are gone. The stars are always shining, even when no one can see them and when no one can appreciate their beauty. The stars expect nothing in return, yet they shine and shine even when they are tired. Until they die, they keep shining no matter how useless it may seem.
And even if no one notices them, Emma and Norman do. They love the stars.
To be loved… is a magical feeling, one that may not be appreciated as much as it should be. To be loved is like waking up in the morning and the weightless feeling that envelops him when Norman smiles at him, the smell of candied peaches and maple syrup in the dining hall when Mama makes a promise she can keep, the bubbling laughter and insistent charm of Emma’s melodic voice as it waves through his very existence, a tight knot in his gut that he doesn’t want to unravel. Love may be a fickle thing, like the shape of the moon or the position of the sun as it journeys across the sky. It’s the smell of nectar and the colourful butterflies that tickle Emma’s nose, her soft fingers holding his hand, the innocence of childhood, and the secrets that lurk in the shadows that make him grasp onto everything he has just that much tighter because its value is often overlooked. It’s the rustle of pages being turned and sinking into the pillows and the rustic library where afternoons are spent with Norman’s arm draped over his shoulder, their debates and Norman’s wisdom. It’s the chaos at every meal time, the warmth of the gravy on his plate and the softness of the roast meat and the crunch of fresh vegetables and the life that surrounds him, from the volume of every voice down to the syllables that are spoken. It’s the evenings by the fireplace, a steaming cup of hot cocoa and whipped cream and the reassuring weight of warm bodies pressed into his side and the quiet humming and bedtime stories in the face of the dancing flames.
To be loved is all the little things, the small things that outshine even the brightest of suns when they are joined together, that hold up the sky when the moon is gone. To be loved is like the stars in the sky, to always be there even though it comes with no reward, no praise or kind words. To always be there, through the highs and lows but always be there, to create that sense of familiarity. It’s about accepting what you have and never asking for more. It’s like quiet murmurs of approval, teasing jokes and the ever-persistent looks, eyes that see all, the soul brimming with things that cannot be formulated into words. It’s allowing the sun and moon to shine, and never asking for anything in return because it’s hard not to be enamoured by their blinding beauty. The stars are special, they are beautiful yet they do not understand it. They don’t know how bleak it is without them because they’ve become so used to being in the background, watching under trees and through corners of windows. They notice all the small things because no detail is insignificant and it is to be enchanted by the mere thing called life, to preserve the simplicity of childhood because it was lost so soon and there is nothing that can protect you from its loss.
Emma and Norman love the stars.
The Sun and the Moon love the stars, the stars which will always be waiting for them, through darkness and light, every hour and every minute and every tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Because they- he is so hopelessly devoted to those selfless, pure souls, that welcome him into open arms and make his guilt just a little bit more bearable. Because Ray loves Emma and Norman so, and he would move the skies and the heavens so they can laugh and smile and spread their light, he would humble himself and be shoved into a corner because they deserve everything he has to offer and more and he would light a match and let his love consume him because that’s what a star does. They burn and they burn bright for the ones they keep closest in their heart.
Emma and Norman love the stars.
In the grand scheme of things, in a world where Emma is the sun and Norman is the moon, their kindness is overwhelming, because they will never deny the stars. In a world where the Sun, for the first time, silently thanks the stars for being constant and an invisible source of support, and a world where the moon is grateful for a helping hand, a reliable declaration of dedication, there is only one who is worthy of being a star in their eyes. In the end, there has only ever been one that elevates the Sun from a burning ball of gas to the celestial monarch reigning over the day, and the moon from a lightless ball of rock to the wise, eternal entity of security, the warrior who strides to light every corner and banish all evil. The stars do not realise how treasured they are, but it is a fact. It hurts the Sun and the moon that the stars do not know this because Emma and Norman could never ask for anything more than to have their star. And that is a fact.
Emma and Norman love the stars.
But Emma and Norman love Ray even more.