I remember when I was six years old.
You coming and waking me up.
Telling me we had to leave.
We were driving in the old car.
The dog was still with us then, Koby.
He sat in the back next to me, his warm panting hitting my face.
I remember that.
You kept talking to me as Dad drove.
You explained there would be a shooting star.
Telling me to stay awake.
I remember it was cold out.
The field we stopped in was dark.
You and dad laid out lots of blankets.
We snuggled up, looking up at the sky.
All the stars were still.
And I asked, “What should I do if there’s no star to make my wish on?”
My voice was still high pitched, childlike, and always curious.
You whispered into my ear, “The star will come. If it doesn’t, I’ll find you another one.”
And I smiled.
It was like that kid song. “…if that mocking bird won’t sing, Mama’s gonna find you a diamond ring, if that diamond ring won’t shine…”
And then the star came. It was bright, and white and it went shooting across the sky, shooting over Danny Payges’s field.
And I made a wish. I had the GUALL to wish for something, something more, while being surrounded by only love and warmth.
No wonder life hates me.
And now, I have no warmth surrounding me. No safety. Because you and him are falling apart.
My walls that protect me are crumbling and the pillars holding up my roof are caving in.
And I want a star.
I want a wish.
I want you to go find me one.
But you can’t.
You really, really can’t.
Don’t worry, I know that. I’m not that dumb little kid anymore.