This is not the kind of thing you usually do. But when someone tweets that there’s a 60% chance the Northern Lights are visible in your state tonight, you remember that rooftop patio access was listed as an amenity on the lease, and—let’s face it—you were never going to sleep at a reasonable hour, anyway.

Your partner pulls the covers over his head as you wriggle out of bed. Since you’re apparently feeling whimsical today, you grab your Hello Kitty mermaid plush—the one thing that you’ve brought along to every place you’ve lived—and tuck it gently against his side.

You creep out of the apartment and into the stairwell. Your unpracticed knees groan as you climb six floors. By the time you reach the final fluorescent EXIT sign, you’re breathing hard and your calves are cramping.

You push open the heavy door. The first thing you feel is the frosty sting of wind against your face. The rooftop is completely bare except for a few chairs. It’s too quiet, and, despite the streetlights below, even darker than you expected.

The loud thud of the door swinging shut breaks through the silence. You push it a few times, but dread starts pooling in the pit of your stomach when you realize it’s locked. You fumble through your keys, your heart racing as you try all of them.

Panicking now, you reach for your phone. You say a silent prayer, willing for your partner to pick up—

But then—as you look up toward whatever god would come to your rescue—you finally see it: a turquoise glow rippling across the dark grey sky, faint yet unmistakable. It’s beautiful. You take in a breath of cold night air. You’re an eight-year-old in the toy department, and you’ve never coveted anything more than the iridescent purple-turquoise of Hello Kitty’s mermaid tail.

And then you’re thirty-two again, locked on a rooftop. You’re alone but not lonely. Your glasses fog with every breath, and the sky is glowing and endless.