The Shiniest Star

“That's her.” She says and she points up at the shiniest star, “I know it.”

I laugh at her and I tell her she sounds like a Disney movie. She looks at me, her eyes wide, big and droopy, ponds dripping down her cheeks. She shakes her head.

“I don't care.” She says, “I don't care what kind of movie I am. I like Disney movies. That's her. It has to be.”

I shake my head, smiling because I know she hurts easy and the past few days have been hard for her.

“Okay.” I say, “Whatever.”

There is a long silence. The ground beneath us is like sand, the concrete pokes at the flesh on my back. We lay staring at the sky. Her fingers are still pointing at the shiniest star, like big fat twigs, big round dogs howling at the moon. I watch her childish arms wave about in the milky air.

“Have you ever been in love?” She asks me.

I look at her. Her hair stroking her face like slender fingers. Her eyebrows sitting on her forehead like logs.

“I have.” I say. “I know.”

There is a silence that confirms she knows what I mean. Although I barely know what I mean. It just seems like the right thing to say. In the thick air and the cold breeze it is hard to know what to say.

“I did.” She says, she puts her fingers down to her sides and she stares up at the sky, sticky like pudding. “But then she's gone so...”

I look up at the shiniest star. It twinkles and it hurts my eyes.

“There is nothing wrong with Disney movies.” I say.

She doesn't look at me, her eyes are pasted to the bowl of sky and the millions of missing children that shine through it.

“It's just that I don't think it is fair to call her that star.” I look up at the sky, “Not everybody knew her. She wasn't the most popular. That doesn't mean she wasn't special. She was amazing...but...”

I struggle to find the right words. Thoughts that have piled themselves in the back of my head appear in m mouth and I lick them and speak them and regret them. I smile again because smiles are warm.

“Think of all the small stars.” I say, “Everybody always talks about the shiniest...but what about those that aren't so shiny? They are wonderful too, aren't they? They deserve to be remembered. They deserve to be loved.”

I pause. I look at her face and I see tears. Silver fish in the ponds of her eyes. I smile again because it hurts to do anything else. I reach for her childish hand and her chubby fingers. I hold her tight because I don't know how she feels but I can imagine.

“That's why I think that star is her,” I say, and I point to a small star in the corner of the universe, “I know it.”