Page 23 of Mayflower

Hanging up, I pad to Raven’s kitchen and pour myself a glass of his favorite liquor. I open the balcony doors, sit in the wicker chair by the doors, light one of Raven’s cigarettes, and take a sip of his alcohol.

When I close my eyes, the scents mix together. The bitter tobacco, the somewhat sweet alcohol. I smell and taste like him.

A sharp knock at the door snaps me out of my sweet fantasy. When I open the door, it’s Little.

His nostrils flare, taking in the familiar scents, and his eyes widen immediately. "Rave is back?"

He darts past me into an empty living room but stops short when he sees the burning cigarette in the ashtray.

"It's his smell,” he says disheartened as he turns his now-sad eyes to me. “Will you tell me where he is?”

There’s that treacherous lump in my throat again. “I don’t know, baby. I don’t know,” I whisper the half-truth.

His sad expression lights up in seconds. “Wanna see something cool?"

He runs to the door and turns off the lights, immediately turning the room dark. He then goes to one of the corners and turns a switch.

The ceiling suddenly illuminates with stars and constellations and planets in different colors.

“Watch!” Little says, and everything on the ceiling starts moving. The planets, the Earth—the entire room comes to life with a yellow glow and the magical blues and pinks and greens for the planets.

Little’s face is turned upward. “He bought this pro-pro-pro-jec-tor of the”—he makes a little pause and licks his lips to ready himself for the word, he always does with the ones that are unusual or complicated—“u-ni-verse when I started learning about stars.” He points his forefinger at one of the planets. “That's Mars, like a chocolate bar. It's an angry planet, Rave says. In ass… Ass…”

"Astrology?” I prompt.

"Yeah. Raven said it’s angry like you are angry at him when, you know, you don’t talk."

My heart does a strange flip. I never knew they discussed me so much.

"And that's Mer-cu-ry.” He thoughtfully pronounces every syllable. “It means wise. Like you, Rave said."

I hold my breath so as not to cry. I can’t cry in front of Little. I can’t cry, period. Crying is mourning. I’m not mourning. Because Rave is alive. He just has to be.

“Come!” Little motions to me and lies down in the center of the living room. “Come!” He pats the floor next to him.

And I do as he tells me.

“Rave said that’s the right way to look at stars. Like this.”

“It is,” I say softly, lying next to the kid and watching the beautiful scenery unfolding on the ceiling.

“I miss him,” Little says quietly.

“Me too.”

“Soooo much. He will come back, won’t he, Maddy?”

I take in a deep breath and hold it so as not to cry. “He will, Little. He will.”

And we lie on the floor, me and the kid, and gaze at the starry universe, missing Raven.

9

RAVEN

A WEEK AGO

Kids in a bunker—I want to say the scenario is disheartening, but who am I kidding? I was a kid once. A basement was not a bunker, but these kids look safe whereas I know what can happen in places like this.

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