Free Just J by Colin Frizzell

the billions of stars that decorate the hemisphere.
    I’ve never seen so many stars, and I find their infinity intimidating. Whenever I watch a movie that shows the night sky in the country, I always think it’s digitally enhanced. Now that I see it, it could almost make you believe in heaven. It could almost make you believe in any–thing.
    â€œJ—J!” I hear a voice in the distance and turn to find Aunt Guin sitting right beside me. “Art’s going to bed.”
    â€œWhat?” I ask as I slowly return from space.
    I look over to see Art standing up and waving at me. I get the feeling that he’s been trying to say goodnight for some time.
    Dazed, I watch as a friendly smile crosses his ghostly face. He almost glows in the firelight, and his eyes, framed by the flames’ dancing reflection in his round wire glasses, look positively mystical. I find myself staring at him, not out of curiosity but wonder. His expression shows that he doesn’t mind, he can sense the sentiment behind my gaze.
    â€œGood night,” he says, breaking the spell.
    â€œNight,” I reply.
    He turns to Aunt Guin. “You’re sure you don’t want the van? I don’t mind.”
    â€œNo,” she assures him. “We’ll be fine out here.”
    The idea of sleeping outdoors should bother me, but it doesn’t.
    The warmth of the fire embraces me while the stars watch over me from far overhead. The crackle of the fire–wood keeps time for a lullaby of crickets and frogs. Waves roll in and the lake massages the sand. The world stops spinning and begins to gently rock back and forth. I want to stay right here—as long as it’s not for more than one night, maybe two. There’s only so much nature a girl can take.
    With Art gone, Aunt Guin and I just stare at the fire in silence. Images start to appear in the flames, and the longer I stare, the clearer they become. Faces form, then bodies and then whole scenes start to play out. Some with Mom and they’re not nice, they’re… “
    So, where’s the washroom?” I ask, breaking my self-induced trance. Guin looks away from the fire and toward me. Her face is relaxed and she’s glowing, but not from the flames. Not directly anyway. Whatever she saw in that fire must have been better than what I saw.
    â€œInside,” she says calmly.
    I look back at the house, where a light is on. Electricity, that’s a surprise. But with or without light, the thought of what might be hiding or growing in the bathroom sends shivers through my body despite the fire’s warmth. The sheer panic must show on my face.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Aunt Guin says comfortingly, “I cleaned it.”
    I smile nervously, unwilling to believe anything in that house could ever become clean or even close to it. But I haven’t used a washroom in ages, so I’m forced by my mor–tality to find a toilet—and fast.
    â€œWhere is it?” The fear in my voice makes Aunt Guin smile. I’m glad I can be such a constant source of entertain–ment.
    â€œRight across from the living room. Just follow the clean smell.”
    I give a strained smile at her attempt at humor while cau–tiously making my way to the screened-in back porch that is eerily lit by a single yellow bulb.
    My pace is set by a strange combination of fear, which holds me back, and a bursting bladder, which drives me forth. I think this was a tactic the British used to send troops into battle. They’d load them up on rum and tell them that the only washrooms were in enemy hands. Not that I’d had any rum. Just Coke.
    I look up and see a small round attic window, which makes the house look like a Cyclops daring me to enter.
    Unlike the stars, it isn’t comforting. The closer I get to the house, the more I like nature.
    Inside the screened-in back porch, I give my eyes a moment to adjust. The darkness in the country