just follow the cat

Countdown 2: Starling in the Afternoon

1:29PM, December22nd

a home south of Cheyenne, Wyoming

the Moon of Popping Trees will be full

in 4 hours and 4 minutes

"Is that all there is?" Starling opened his eyes when he heard his mother close the book she had been reading to him.

"Yes, dear." She held up the cover to show him the title. "You looked like you were asleep, but I kept reading because I didn't know much about the story. Even though it was very sad, I liked it. Honestly, I didn't think I would."

Starling pushed himself up a couple of inches to see the book and then nodded with his eyes. "I'm glad you picked that one. It doesn't seem much like a kid's book, though, does it?"

Donna Mae Prindle looked at the stack of books beside the bed and realized (for the first time) that most of them were ones that she read to her sons when they were young children. The Cat in the Hat. Alice in Wonderland. Homer Price. Cinnabar, the One O'Clock Fox.

"Why did you put this one on your list, dear? I never read anything to you about Henry Hudson, did I? It's so different from the other books."

Starling shook his head. "Crow and I read it. We read it lots of times, so I guess I wanted to hear it again and think about him." He smiled and added, "By him, I mean Crow." Then in a hoarse voice that had softened throughout the day, he said, "And Henry too, I guess."

Starling craned his neck to look out the window. The world beyond the glass was both strange and familiar. It was both because Wyoming may be the only place on Earth where it can be sunny and gray at the same time. He pointed to the sky and said, "The clouds look so cold today."

"It should look cold," his mother said. "It's fifteen below. The coldest December day in years. Or so I heard."

As Donna Mae lifted her son's shoulders and slipped some extra pillows behind his back, Starling said, "Well, I guess I'm glad I'm inside. It's probably as cold here as it is on the Hudson Bay."

Then he added, "My interest in that whole story began in school when a teacher asked if anyone knew what the word maroon meant. She was talking about Henry Hudson getting marooned by his crew, but I wasn't listening very closely and I only heard the question at the end."

Starling paused to catch his breath and then continued. "Anyway, I raised my hand and said that maroon was a dark reddish-brown color – sort of like the color of a brick. I must have been in 4th grade, because Mrs. Wilson was the teacher. When I answered, she made a face and said, 'Haven't you been listening, Mr. Prindle? We're talking about history not bricks.' At first the other kids were quiet, but then they laughed at me when she made the same face a second time. I felt so stupid. Sometimes, I think she went out of her way to embarrass us kids."

Donna Mae grimaced and shook her head. "I'm sorry, dear. Some teachers just aren't very good people. I'm sorry she did that to you. Really, I'm very very sorry." Before speaking again, she raised her hand so it covered her mouth and asked, "Did you ever tell me that story before? Or your father?"

Starling shook his head. "I didn't tell anyone except Crow. I don't know why I didn't say anything to you. I just didn't."

Each time he opened his mouth, Starling spoke deliberately as if he was measuring the exact amount of energy required to say each word. Every sentence was like a recipe from a cookbook with instructions to add one tablespoon of pause here, two deep breaths there, and pinch of sigh someplace else.