I’m laying in my bed staring at the stars.

Not at the stars outside my window…

The stars on my ceiling.

Yes, I am a grown-ass, almost 40 year old woman, and I have glow in the dark stars pasted all over my ceiling.

They remind me of my childhood.

When I was a teenager, back in the early nineties, my parents were very utilitarian in how our house was decorated. I had the same bedspread and sheets set from the time I was 7 until I graduated high school. The only art on my bedroom walls was that which I created, and a very large poster of the desiderata, given to me by my very favorite teacher.

But there were two things I just loved, that my father actually indulged.

Cinnamon scented candles from The Candle Outlet,

And

Glow in the dark stars.

Back then, they weren’t easy to find. We didn’t have a Walmart, and the only place to get them was downtown at the Museum Center at Union Terminal.

Dad and I were there one day, because I had some music or drama event, and we passed the gift shop. I had learned very young not to ask for things, especially from gift shops. It was selfish, and besides, everything there was overpriced, according to my father.

I was absolutely entranced by the black light display full of glow in the dark stars.

I stopped and stared.

I must have stared for a while, because my dad asked me what I was looking at, and when I looked at him and said “Dad, the Stars…” he got a funny look on his face and immediately pulled a pack off the shelf and bought them for me.

I was shocked.

We got them home, and because he was tall enough to reach my ceiling without a ladder, he came into my room to help me mount them on the ceiling. We realized that the pack only contained about a dozen stars, so we spread them out across the room, turned off the light, and looked up.

I thought they were just beautiful.

I told my dad that I was going to save up my camp money and go back to the Museum Center the next summer and buy more so that I could make actual constellations on my ceiling.

For about a week, as I went to sleep, I would lay in the dark and stare at my stars. They were lovely, in a weird, glow-in-the-dark sort of way.

What made them even more special was that my dad bought them for me, and it wasn’t even Christmas. In our house, you really only got presents or new toys, or any gifts at all, on Christmas. I hadn’t asked for them, or even hinted that I wanted them, but he saw how they made me light up, so he bought them.

The next Saturday, I had divisional band in another city, all day long. I didn’t get home until very late, and after eating some dinner, I went straight to bed. I changed into my pajamas, climbed under the covers, and turned out the lights.

I looked at my ceiling and screamed. And then I burst into tears.

The night before, there had been 12 stars scattered across my ceiling. That night, there was an entire solar system, complete with constellations, and even my initials spelled out in stars on the wall in one corner.

And there was my dad, standing in the doorway of my room, sort of smugly smiling. I sat there in my bed crying tears of happiness, and he just grinned and said, “you should probably use your Camp Money for something else.” And he turned around and went to bed. He never spoke of it again.

Those Stars remained on my ceiling until I graduated high school. I wish I had thought to take them with me when I moved out to go to college. My parents left Hasler Lane shortly after that, and I assume they left the Stars on the ceiling.

I can only hope that some other girl laid under those constellations and dreamed of the universe like I did.

A few months ago, my girlfriend said that she had a surprise for me. She took me into her bedroom, I sat on her window seat, and she turned off the lights.

I squealed with delight, because on her ceiling twinkled my beautiful glow in the dark stars. She had no idea of my affinity for them, and yet there they glowed.

And now, there are stars on my ceiling once again.

And once again, I flick out the lights, stare at the stars, and smile.