older or grown up or both that I wonât live here anymore. I might live in a big city, maybe even in Berlin, or...who knows.
In ten years Iâll be twenty-five. What will I be like then? Maybe Iâll have been in love with the same person for a few years. Maybe Iâll have children, or a dog. I wonder what Iâll be doing then. I picture an apartment overlooking a street full of traffic. At night drunk people wander down the sidewalk singing arias. Actually, I justpicture myself standing there and looking out at the street below. Nothing more.
Itâs getting warmer out. I stand out on the balcony and smoke a cigarette butt that Iâve hidden. This is nice, the balcony. You can stand here and look out at the garden. Beyond that is nothing but countryside.
But what I really like about it isnât the fields or the trees, but the sky. The sky is so big here. In the city it always looks as though the sky has just been hung out to dry between the houses. But here itâs different. At night the sky is a big black blanket with flecks of stars, a blanket that I can pull over my head when Iâm sad. Or happy. A cool blanket when I have a fever. A warm blanket when Iâm cold.
The balcony door opens and I quickly hide the cigarette butt with the others.
âHey, sweetie?â
âYeah?â
âHow are you?â
âOkay.â
Mum links her arm through mine. âDid you have a fight with Dennis?â
âWhatever.â She hasnât noticed the cigarette.
âLove life problems?â
I shrug. Then weâre quiet.
âThere are supposed to be shooting stars tonight,â Mum says suddenly.
âYeah, I heard that.â
âNice, isnât it?â
And I nod.
âThe sky is completely clear. Weâll probably see some.â
Iâve never seen a shooting star.
And then one falls. I see it out of the corner of my eye.
âSo, did you make a wish?â Mum asks.
âNo.â
âSo, think of one quickly then.â
And then another one falls. What should I wish? I look over at Mum. I see her face looking up at the sky. And she smiles and in the moonlight she looks much softer.
Sometimes I wonder how everything can be so shitty most of the time and then suddenly completely different, so still and peaceful. Like the way sheâs standing here right now, her hair pinned up and with the moonlight shining on her face.
What do I wish for her? I wish her the best. I wish her luck and good health and then I wish that we wouldnât fight so much. So that she wouldnât have to be sad.
Another star falls.
âDid you make a wish on that one?â Mum asks.
I nod.
And Mum smiles.
10
âSo have you ever had pets?â Laura asks me.
âA few. Nothing with fur, though. A few fish, a turtle that ran away. And a budgie.â
âI had a budgie, too, once. But I killed it,â says Phillip.
âWhat?â I say. Laura starts to laugh.
âShut up, Laura!â Phillip snaps. âIt was really tragic. He used to fly free in my room and one day I went into my room and forgot that Iâd left the cage open. I slammed the door shut as soon as I noticed, but Hansi was caught in the middle.â
Now Lauraâs really having a fit.
âWhat do you mean, in the middle?â I ask.
âI crushed him. With the door.â
âOuch!â
âYeah, it was not a great moment,â Phillip says, but even he canât stop smiling a little.
âIt was my fault that our budgie Joker died,â I say. âI left him out in the sun too long and his weak heart couldnât take it.â
I still remember the Ferrero Rocher box that we buried him in. Funny. That box never showed up again.
âHe was a good budgie,â I say.
Laura raises her cup high. âTo Joker. He was a good budgie.â
âItâs all a bit macabre, isnât it?â I say then. âI was pretty devastated at
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Karl Iagnemma
Celya Bowers
Jill Gregory
Aria Cunningham