sometimes always

The screen door slams behind us before any moths or mosquitoes can raid the house. They linger there, the moths and mosquitos, swarming and buzzing around the glow of a yellowed porch light. We topple into the front yard, barefoot and armed with insect repellent that will probably do me no good. We try anyway and I feel like PigPen tromping around with a toxic mist that encompasses my limbs and trunk.
We are determined to navigate the sky tonight. In our backpockets we have our maps- tarrot sized cards with individual constellations found in both diagram form and pin pricked holes. The brilliant idea being hold up the card to the sky until a star is found in each hole. Voilia! Camelopardalis found. Out here, however, I am overwhelmed and dizzy looking up into space. The sky is densely populated and any complex formation is almost impossible to detect. "Maybe try this one," I offer, trading cards and making a second, third, fourth attempt. Eventually I give up, collapsing onto the ground while trying to keep my equilibrium as I continue to stare upward. I stare until I see a shooting star and when I do I wish for something vague and discrete. I try again to match the holes with the stars but neither of us identify anything more than the dippers.

Megan lies next to her boyfriend just before sleep. She stares at the ceiling fan as our conversation circulates within her mind. "Do you like the stars?" she asks him. "And can you find beauty in a February day? And are you sometimes amazed by the moon?"
"Sometimes," he answers sleepily but with a smile. These questions, though seemingly out of the blue, are hardly out of the ordinary for Megan and he knows this. Megan smiles too, thanks him, and snuggles further into night.