Renderosity: Gabrielli Word Count 705 Starlight Greeting Once upon a time, he wished upon a star, to draw a shooting star, to wish for the heart of a star. It was a gamble, using his art to attract her attention. He was far below her attention, like a pebble in an earthen path, but she had shown light on his path for many moonless months and had starred in his dreams for far longer. Gambles, though they often fall like stars, occasionally deign to shoot the moon. And it was one wane moonlit night that he caught her sight. Or rather, his greeting graced her vision. The drawing of something magical—it caused…she wasn’t sure what it caused, but her eyes saw something in the simple shapes that lit a corner of her heart. Their first meeting was a meshed jumble of nerves, for both of them. Her calm, cool exterior barely contained the piercing beam that threatened to divulge her piqued interest. He, of course, simply beamed. It was not every day that a star gave up its place to grace the realm of men. “I got your picture,” she said. “I...I drew it for you,” he stammered. Words struggled through his wax-like brain on that wane winter evening. “I guessed so.” Now that he was in her presence, he found none of the pithy sayings that he had stored up in the unthinkable event of her choosing to meet with him. Preparation had failed him and all he had was the drawing, her and himself. “It took forever. I spent two days redoing the nose. And the star...” Even now, it seemed to him vastly imperfect. He wished he had another week to start over but time had taken its leave and he had finally resigned himself to risk giving it to her as it was. “No, it’s very nice. I really like it.” She caught herself speaking too quickly. “Really.” He wasn’t sure which made him more uncomfortable, tripping over his tongue in front of this angel, or knowing that she had to condescend in stating her affinity to his obviously inferior work. But she’d actually said that she liked it. That had to count for something. “I should probably go,” she said. Stargazing was always hard when there was a crowd pressing all around. “Oh, ok. Yeah.” “Bye.” She turned away. His heart suddenly caught in his throat. “Wait!” he called out. She turned back and his heart leaped to see that she was not only smiling, but holding the drawing to her chest. “Merry Christmas.” “You too.” But that had been a long time ago. The third grade, to be exact. The bustling hallway outside the elementary school Christmas Pageant had been their first fateful meeting. And now, four kids, three decades, two careers, one mortgage and a partridge in a pear tree later, she still shone as brightly--in his eyes. Her beauty had matured from the soft prettiness of childhood through the lithe femininity of womanhood. His art had grown refined, cultured, and although far from that of the great masters, had gained popularity it its own right. She had remained his favorite model all those years. “Hey, look what I found in with the decorations.” She held a hand-prepared greeting card made of rough construction paper. The scene—a drawing of a curly-haired girl in a red dress with a decorated tree and a shining, shooting star in the night sky. “This brings back memories, doesn’t it?” He smiled wanly as she sat beside him on the couch. The family Christmas tree sparkled in the background and there was the smell of hot cider in the air. “Memories of Christmas past,” he chuckled, as he took a closer look at the drawing. The crude lines and oddly shaped figures stood out vividly to his trained eye. “Not exactly Picasso.” “No,” she replied, snuggling to him. “But it was more than enough to catch the heart of a young girl.” He caught her eyes, and then looked again at his work from so long ago. For a fleeting moment, he was reminded of a starry night when he wished upon a star. He smiled again, this time with fond remembrance. “Merry Christmas.” “You too.”