The Sun, The Moon, and Their Stars

47 : Wait

Benjamin

"Are you done with this?"

I look up and see my older sister standing by the door, holding the brown packaging tape that she must've picked up from the top of one of the boxes on my side.

"Not yet," I answer. "You can take it. I'll just close this later."

I go back to arranging my CDs inside another box, but she doesn't leave.

"How are you doing?"

I take the last stack of CDs from the middle of the shelf. "What do you mean?" I ask while I carefully place them in the box.

"I mean after we had that conversation last March? And after this summer? And about all this?"

I close the lids. "I don't really have a choice but be okay with all this." I look at her this time. "I'm okay, I guess," I say with a shrug. "I had the best summer, though. So, I'm good."

"Okay."

I stare at the empty shelf. And she's still here.

"I'm sorry about..."

"Yeah, yeah," I cut her off. "Well, that's how it is."

I sigh and grab the permanent marker near my sister's feet. I write my name on top of the box, and I add the word 'fragile' on the sides.

Jessy gives me back the roll of tape. "How's she doing?" she asks.

"She's there," I say with a nod. Then I seal the box and give it back.

"So, how's it going to be, then?"

I give my sister the permanent marker as well. "Now, I have a reason to keep coming back," I say, "and still call this place home."

She nods, spins around, and leaves the room.

The tables and shelves are cleared. I only have my clothes left to pack, and they're not that much.

It's eight thirty-seven, according to my phone. It dings and vibrates as I'm putting it down. There's a message from an unknown number. It says, 'call me if you wanna reach me.' I don't have time for this, so I set it aside.

I open the cabinet doors, but I also notice the Foo Fighters poster on the wall by the side of the bed. I go there instead and start peeling it off. I take my time, so I won't ruin it, given that it's already a little old. The phone catches my attention as I'm carefully rolling it.

Who could've sent me that message? I don't just give my number to anyone, and I have a very small network of people.

I take one rubber band from the top of the desk and place it around the rolled poster.

Wait.

I stare back at the cellphone resting on the bed. That message sounds familiar.

I drop the poster on top of a box, grab my phone, and dial back that number.

She answers on the second ring.

"Kim Possible!"

"Ha!" she says in a little more high-pitched voice. "It took you the whole of Champagne Supernova to figure it out?"

"You measure elapsed time by song length? Nice." I sit down. "And to my defense, I'm sort of in the middle of something."

"Riiight."

"Let's backtrack. Is this number yours? When? How?"

"Yes. Just a while ago. I have the best big brother in the world."