About that boy.

About That Boy

A star had fallen beyond the horizon, in Canada perhaps. (He had an aunt in Canada). The second was nearer, just beyond The Chief’s College, so he was not surprised when the third fell into the backyard. A flash of gold light lit the walls of the enclosing tenements and he heard a low musical chord – It sounded like how love would sound-like. Sweet. Gentle. Calm.  The light turned deep red and went out, and he knew that somewhere below a star was cooling in the night air (it is difficult for stars to travel so far away from home – it drains them). Turning from the window he saw that no one else had noticed at the table they were too busy in the mundane. His father, thoughtfully frowning, filled in his Sudoku book, his mother continued ironing under the pulley with its row of under wear.
He said in a small voice, “A’m gawn out for a stroll.”

“See you’re no long then” replied his mother.

He slipped through the lobby and onto the stair head, banging the door after him.

The stairs were cold and coldly lit at each landing by a weak electric bulb. He hurried down - three flights of steps at a time-  to the black silent yard and began hunting backward and forward, combing with his fingers the lank grass round the base of the clothe pole. He found it in the hidden on a decayed cabbage leaf. It was smooth and round, the size of a glass marble, and it shone with a light which made it seem to rest on a precious bit of green and yellow velvet. He picked it up. It was warm and filled his cupped palm with a ruby glow. He put it in his pocket and went back upstairs.

That night in bed he had a closer look. He thought what people would think if they knew he was sleeping with a star. They probably wouldn’t be supportive. Wriggling carefully far down under the sheets, he opened his palm and gazed. The star shone white and blue, making the space around him like a cave in an iceberg. This was odd for a star to change color and temperature so sporadically. Maybe it was broken, he thought. He brought it close to his eye. In its depth was the pattern of a snow flake, the grandest thing he had ever seen. From this angle the star looked like the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. He looked through the flake’s crystal lattice into an ocean of glittering blue black waves under a sky full of huge galaxies. He heard a remote lulling sound like the sound in a sea-shell, and gently he fell asleep with the star safely clenched in his hand. In that place between wakefulness and sleep, the place where dreams were born he made a solemn vow never to let go of his star – he would have it forever.

He enjoyed it for nearly two weeks, gazing at it each night below the sheets, sometimes seeing the snow, flake, sometimes a flower, jewel, moon or landscape. At first he kept it hidden during the day but soon took to carrying it about with him; the smooth rounded gentle warmth in his pocket gave comfort when he felt insulted or neglected.

At school one afternoon he decided to take a quick look. He was at the back of the classroom in a desk by himself. The teacher was among the boys at the front row and all heads were bowed over books. Quickly he brought out the star and looked. It contained and aloof eye with a cool green pupil which dimmed and trembled as if seen through water.

“What have you there, Zain?” the teacher bellowed

He shuddered and shut his hand.

“Marbles are for the playground, not the classroom.

You’d better give it to me.”

He just shook his head.

“I don’t tolerate disobedience, Zain. Give me that thing.”

The boy saw the teacher’s face above him, the mouth opening and shutting under a clipped moustache. Suddenly he knew what to do.
He put the star in his mouth and swallowed. As the warmth sank toward his heart he felt relaxed and at ease.

The teacher’s face moved into the distance. Teacher, classroom, world receded like a rocket into a warm, easy blackness leaving behind a trail of glorious stars.
In an instant he was complete.