Into the Starry Night

Thirty-One - Part One

A gentle warmth cast over my forehead and I slowly pried my hitherto closed eyes open.

The first thing I noticed was the unfamiliar ceiling-pale, off-white, almost entirely covered by a large poster of a bunch of superheros that my lethargic brain couldn't recognize. I blinked, trying to shake off the drowsiness, the shroud of sleep still clouding my mind. For a moment, I just lay there, staring up, disoriented.

Where am I?

The last thing I remembered was sitting in the living room.

I sat up slowly, my muscles stiff as I moved away from the pool of bright sunlight pouring in from the open French doors.

The room around me was large and very well lit by the two windows in addition to the French doors. The bed I was in was enormous, with crisp white sheets tucked neatly around me.

Across from it, a work station sat, its surface crowded completely-an ornate wicker bowl filled with brightly colored paper folded into all sorts of shapes and animals, a few scattered books, a laptop, gaming system, among other things. The air smelled faintly of mint, and a cool breeze drifted in carrying with it the scent of the ocean and in turn ruffling the curtains.

As soon as I saw the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves spanning almost all of the four walls of the room, there was not a doubt in my mind where I was.

I was in Daniel's room.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stood, my bare feet sinking into the soft rug beneath me. My shoes had been neatly placed beside the bed, along with my handbag, but my attention wasn't on any of that.

I took my time perusing the expansive walls. In true Daniel fashion it was crowded with knickknacks and at every turn there was something to look at. Action figures, autographed posters, comic books and of course books. Lots and lots of books called out to me.

My heart clenched in my chest, the sudden, unexpected wave of nostalgia unearthing the part of me that was still sixteen and hurting from where I buried her six feet under.

My fingers trailed lightly along the spines of the books as I moved past, the familiar covers evoking memory after memory of the first time I read them.

I paused in front of a well-worn paperback, a copy of Ender's Game with its pages slightly yellowed from age. How many times had we argued over that one? Daniel always believed Ender's choices were inevitable, that sometimes doing the right thing meant playing the villain. I had disagreed, clinging to the hope that there was always another way.

A small, sad smile tugged at the corner of my lips. So much had changed since then. I would've never thought that I'd be so distant with the one person who knew me better than I knew myself.

As I found myself absentmindedly flipping through his autographed copy of IT a red, leather bound book caught my eye on the other side of the room.

Dropping the novel on his desk I went over to the shelf beside the French door and pried the thick book out of its corner.

Flipping it open I let out an astonished laugh when I found out what it was. I had unwittingly found the family album featuring laminated photos of a young, curly-haired, apple-cheeked Daniel.

There was one of him in a Superman costume, braced teeth shining brightly as he struck the superhero pose.

It was so adorable I nearly rolled over from laughter.

The quiet creak of the door interrupted my viewing and I turned around and quickly hid the book behind me. Something told me Daniel would not appreciate me viewing his prepubescent pictures.