Rose and Mary. The names, faint and barely visible, were scribbled with a marker onto the metal surfaces of two intertwined locks attached to an old bridge. Their typical day consisted of watching ducks who ride the current and revel in the joy of their carefree existence, greeting the occasional deer that wander to the banks of the river, only to be chased away by homicidal geese, and feeling the same wind that makes the grass surrounding the river sway. When the river reflects the sky’s red, pink and orange palette, Rose and Mary tuck themselves together as best they can. If luck was on their side, the night sky would be cloudless, transforming the river into a stage that stars descended upon to dance. They shimmer over the water, unaware they have an audience. Rose would whisper that the stars looked like ants in a lab fed fluorescent dye. Mary would call Rose stupid.

“They look more like fireflies.”

“Comparing stars to fireflies is boring and basic.”

“We lead boring and basic lives. I’m just a product of my environment,” Mary sighed.

Rose went quiet.

They are stuck on the same corroded, secluded bridge that nobody walked on. Its wooden planks creaked dangerously anytime someone did. They also happened to be doomed to oversee the same river that ducks drifted on. Sure, the deer never initiated a conversation because they could never stay, not with the geese fiercely guarding their territory. True, Rose and Mary had gazed upon the night sky countless times, so much to the point where they could sketch every constellation. Canis Major, Capricorn and Ophiuchus were condemned to the same fate as they were–Condemned to look upon the same view with the same companions for the rest of their lives. Maybe Capricorn wished to disappear every Tuesday. Maybe Ophiuchus dreamed of travelling to distant universes with Scutum. Perhaps Canis Major wanted to run free through a field of freshly rained wildflowers and weeds. It’s too bad because they are all stuck in their place, stagnant in the sky. Their lives appeared plain, mundane and unremarkable. Maybe Mary felt that way, but Rose knew better.

“Look, the ducks are back!” Rose said, diverting their attention to the familiar sounds of quacking and splashing in front of them.

The ducks claimed the river underneath their bridge as home in the middle of August of last year. Rose remembers the exact day. It was a hot and humid, cloudy night. The loud buzzings of the cicada symphony were left uninterrupted to sing their lungs and ears out.

“No stars tonight. How lame is that?” Marry whined. “I wish the universe would send someone other than the annoying bum you are to keep me company,”

“Rude –You know you love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“If I were the universe with the power to change anything, I would make you less mean. The next thing I’d do is grant myself a pair of arms I could box you with. Then I’d save world hunger,” Rose adds as an afterthought.

As the night went on, the increasingly loud voices of the pair drowned out the cicadas. The universe, seemingly tired of their antics, had mailed a flock of ducks that effortlessly glided over the water, sending mesmerizing ripples across its surface. Instantly falling in love with them, Mary told Rose to throw a rock at them with her universe-granted pair of arms. It was to “grab their attention,” she had said.
Rose couldn’t. The two species coexist. Both in each other’s lives but never crossing paths. Mary loves them. They make her happy, a means to connect to the outside world. If Rose were the universe, she would give Mary a pair of legs, a pair of arms and a loaf of bread so that Mary could run down to the river bank to feed the ducks and throw rocks at them. Rose would give herself limbs to follow Mary down wherever she went. The silly thing is that Rose doesn’t even like ducks. Their bodies that break the smooth, glassy surface of the water as they swim across it remind her of how deer leave footprints in freshly fallen snow in the winter and how the rain, snow, and wind erode Mary’s surface. The once-dark marker, now faint, is barely readable. Her surface is no longer smooth but jagged along the edges, with large sections chipped away or rusted. Now, that was the difference between Rose and Mary and the constellations. Ursa Major and Ursa Minor are free to argue, cry and laugh for millions more years. Rose and Mary can’t. All they have are fleeting moments of joy, flashes of anger, and short-lived lives compared to the grand scheme of things. Rose knows their life is not unremarkable because if it were indeed unremarkable, she would not feel so sad at the knowledge that one day, it’ll be her last day to live it.
As Mary and Rose get fainter and fainter, the constellations continue to cry and laugh. Capricorn wishes to disappear every Tuesday and will continue for millions of Tuesdays. The stars continue to perform on the water when the clouds part like curtains in a theatre that will soon be without an audience. The rest of their lives are tranquil if you count constant shouting matches and cicada symphonies as peaceful. They slowly fade into obscurity, just two metal locks with surfaces void of any marker. The ducks don’t know that they are Mary and Rose. Neither do the stars.
With more rain and more wind comes a change of heart. If Rose were the universe with the power to change anything, she wouldn’t change anything about her life. The fleeting days are what made them valuable. They came in limited supply, which made them more expensive. Maybe Capricorn is right to wish to disappear every Tuesday. She doesn’t get to experience a short-lived life in the universe’s grand scheme.

“How lucky we are,”

Mary says, looking at Rose.