Tammy’s stars

Last night I discovered that there are glow-in-the-dark stars all over the ceiling in our bedroom. I’d known there were a few clustered over our bedside lamp, but I hardly ever use the ceiling light (mostly because we have no curtains!), so I’d had no idea the stars were all over!

So many emotions went through my mind as I lay there in the dark, gazing up at my starry sky. One thought led to another, and I ended up crying myself to sleep…

…But I want to tell you the first thought I had. Actually, it was a memory more than a thought. I had the very distinct memory of sitting out under the stars with Tammy when I was 12.

We were at the seventh grade camp-out, and I’d just returned from a year on furlough in Los Angeles. It had been a difficult year for me, full of pain and loneliness, plus the normal grief of entering puberty. It had been, quite frankly, a hellish year for me. My poor parents tried to help me, but they had their own worries, and there was little they could do for me.

So I’d returned to Nigeria with such excitement and anticipation. I was coming home at last—to my friends, my school, my house, even my cat.

When I got back, though, I discovered that everything had changed. Everything. I had missed a year in the lives of people who had kept living without me. While I’d spent every day agonizing over my far-away friends and not fitting in at school or church in L.A., my friends had gone on with middle school as usual. The world didn’t stop turning when I left Nigeria. And of course, at 12, I thought it should have! I was devastated to return to a place that no longer had a niche for me.

On the seventh grade camp-out, we had some fun, and then the girls all started singing songs around the campfire—songs they’d learned in choir while I was gone. I couldn’t take it anymore. I walked quietly to the lake, sat on a rock, watched the stars, and cried. I couldn’t help it. I was just so disappointed. I needed to fit in, to feel as though I belonged. If I didn’t belong here in Nigeria, where did I belong? Certainly not in L.A.!

And after a few minutes, Tammy came down to sit beside me. I don’t remember if we said anything; I don’t think so. I think she just sat with me while I cried.

Finally, I’d had my nice cry and tried to laugh it all off. We looked at the stars together, and I told her that we’d rename the stars in Orion’s belt. One would be Reuben, one would be Monique (Tammy’s brother and sister), and the middle one would be Tamara. Those would be my special stars.

And I’ve hung onto that memory for the past 14 years. It’s one of my hardest and sweetest memories of all.

[From that point on, Tammy and I actually went our separate ways and hung out n two different crowds at school, but I learned to adjust as the years went by. And we’d had our magical moment.]