little, and Nick cracked a grin. “Say, Andrew, where’d you say you’re from again?”
“From town, Aunt Margaret,” Nick answered in Andrew’s place. “From the north quarter, on Begrimble Street.”
“Oh, quaint area,” Margaret said, though her eyes said differently.
“I don’t want to intrude-” Andrew began. His mother had taught him this much politeness.
“Nonsense!” cried Margaret Smith, banging her hand on the table again. Andrew didn’t jump this time. “You’re welcome to stay the night, or as many as you’d like! Our home’s yours’, don’t you know it?”
Andrew hoped the same could be said of this new world. As he sat on the porch with Nick, hearing the torches crackle on the city streets and gazing up at the stars that belonged to a universe that wasn’t his, he sank deep into his thoughts.
There’d been a drought back home, and there was a drought here. Andrew began to wonder if these two worlds were connected by more than a door; maybe they were tied through fate, or something. Andrew didn’t have the faintest clue what fate was, but it sounded right.
Nickolas’ aunt had used the word at dinner. She’d started lamenting about the fate of the city, claiming the man in the clock tower would be the doom of them all. She said “that St. Gerardo fella” was responsible for the drought. After all, the townspeople had often seen him atop the tower at dawn, his hands outstretched to the sky, mumbling strange words in a foreign tongue.
“He’s from the west too,” she said with distaste. “He may be a sage and all, but I never liked folks from the desert and I never will.”
Andrew had lost all motivation to find him. Even with his six-shooter, what could he do against someone like St. Gerardo? He’d felt ten feet tall earlier; now he just felt small.
Nick looked over at him from his seat on the porch. “Andrew,” he said in a low voice. “What’s your world like? It’s just that, I didn’t get to see much of it, you see.”
Andrew grinned. “It’s sort of like this one, Nick, except…” Andrew looked up at the sky, with stars that burned eagerly and clearly above. He could see thousands of them. “Except you can’t see the stars like you can here. Cause of electric light, and pollution, I guess.”
“Hm,” Nick said. “How can you see your path without the light of the stars?”
For a moment, Andrew was silent. He thought about it. Then he stood up from his chair and stepped up on top of it, to get a better view of the street.
“You make your own path, that’s how!” he proclaimed. Nick watched him with wide eyes. “The stars don’t have to tell you where to go- you can make your own decisions.” He paused for a moment, thinking it over. “Yeah, that’s it. Nobody tells you who to be, you make your own path. Simple as that.”
“I dunno about that,” Nick said. “I was told I’d never be very smart, just cause I was born into farming folk. That doesn’t seem very fair. I’d like to go to school but I guess it wasn’t in the cards.”
They were silent for a moment. Andrew sat back down. “I guess that’s true,” he offered.
“And your gun!” Nick said, then covered his mouth with his hands. He looked around to make sure no one watched. No one did. He continued.
“Didn’t yer da hand your guns down to you? That’s the way of the gunfolk, yeah?” Nick’s eyes shone. The light of the fluorescent graffiti cast a multicolored shade upon the porch.
“Yes…” Andrew said, nodding his head slowly, playing the part.
“See? We’re the same! My parents gave me the farmin’ tools, yer’s gave you the shootin’ tools. I’d always heard stories about the ways of the gun-people, but there’s none in this world so I never knew it for sure. But I know somethin’ for sure: I was born to help, you were born to lead.”
Andrew peered off into the street. Suddenly, there was a pop and bang! that made Andrew jump a little.
“Ah!” Nick said, his face lighting up. “Somebody’s settin’ off sparkers.” Andrew heard the ensuing crackle of childhood a few blocks away. It reminded him of summer. At his own house, sitting on the back porch with his dad at night, admiring his mother’s garden in the moonlight. His dad would tip him a wink and pull out a firecracker from his work-bag along with a few matches.
“Want to see a bang, Andy?” David Tollson would ask, a big grin on his face. Firecrackers were illegal in New Jersey, so Andrew supposed this was his family’s best kept secret. He felt something ungraspable now thinking about it. If he were older or gone to school more he might have known it as nostalgia, but for now he decided no word could truly describe the pangs inside. He could smell the summer air, feel the grin on his own face as his father had lit the firecracker.
“Nick?” he said, his eyes still glued to the street.
“Yes?” came the reply beside him.
“Do you miss home?”
“Yeah.” Nick said. He paused for a moment. “Sunsetville’s good and all, but I’m no city-boy. If you think the sky is clear here, you should see down south of the city in the farmin’ lands. There you can you see other worlds as clear as the sun.”
With that Nick got up. “May I have your leave sir? I’m tired.”
Andrew smiled. “Go ahead, Nick. You have my leave.” Nick bowed, and walked through the front door. Andrew sat a little while longer, admiring the stars, soaking in the stillness of the night.
chapter three
in the morning
Andrew awoke to brilliant streaks of sunlight. He looked about him in confusion. Long splashes of yellow and gold illuminated the pale blue walls around him. The boy remembered all of the previous day’s events.
Thoughts of his mother, his home, and his world that he left behind all raced through his mind. Andrew could hardly believe it all happened, and that it had all happened so fast. His father always reminded him that things that happen quickly are either beautiful, or beautifully dangerous. Andrew supposed this whole experience was one or the other; but either way it was beautiful, and by God it was beautiful. Dreams of independence danced about the boy’s head, intoxicating him with wonder. Taking in a breath of the fresh spring breeze that rustled past the shades, the boy stood up.
He heard Nick’s snores beside him and nearly jumped. Nick lay upon his bed, the sheets thrown carelessly over his small chest. His brown hair curled loosely over his neck and his eyes. Andrew laughed as he saw the hair over his eyes jump up with each snore, and then softly fall back over his eyes. Andrew stared at his friend for a moment, and then remarked:
“I think I’ll go back to sleep.” He lay down on the couch, his hands behind his head. Within a minute his snores joined Nick’s.
I
The two boys made their way down to breakfast an hour later, following the smell in a way only young boys can. They headed down the narrow wooden
