anaya and the starcatcher

On a perfectly ordinary Tuesday evening, after the heavy August air has erupted into a splatter of rain, Anaya slips a hand into her pocket and pulls out a star. 

The star sparks and splutters, but it does not go out. She expects it to burn, but it just feels warm in her hands, pulsing and beating like a heart. 

She slips it back in her pocket before anyone sees and continues walking. Anaya holds the star tight enough that it almost stings. When she passes by her neighbor’s house, she hears a door slam. There is a light on upstairs, and what looks like a child’s room is illuminated in yellow. She remembers.

When the sun starts to set, Anaya sits on her patio swing and watches as the sky melts and then blinks awake. She scans the constellations she knows, as if to see where the star was plucked from. 

“Over there,” a voice says, and she jumps. “Up and to the right.” 

“Hello?” she asks, looking around. “Who are you?” 

“Hello.” The voice comes from her pocket, and she pulls out the star again. She turns it around, as if she will find a face that speaks. Instead, something else flutters up from her pocket, and Anaya squints until she sees the shape of it. Instinctively, she holds out her empty hand, and what she first thought was a piece of lint unfurls into a fairy. 

Her hair is dark blue; her skin is a similar shade and is dotted with spots of yellow-white like the night sky. Her dress is a similar off-white, and it sputters and alters its shape a little, much like the star still in Anaya’s pocket. 

“Hi,” Anaya says. “Sorry if I crushed you in my pocket.” 

“You didn’t crush me, Anaya. Don’t worry.” Her voice is small and sweet. It makes Anaya’s teeth hurt. 

“You know my name?” 

“Of course I know your name, silly. I’m your starcatcher, after all.” 

At this, Anaya blinks in surprise. “You are? I get a starcatcher?” 

The little fairy smiles. “After what you’ve been through, I think you deserve one, no?” Anaya doesn’t respond to that for a long moment. “What’s your name?” 

The fairy shakes out her wings as if shivering, and flies up a few inches. “Well, I don’t really have one. But I know that upsets people, so you can name me something, if you’d like.” Anaya looks at her for a moment. “Sitara.” 

“That was quick.” The fairy looks at her, head tilted, and there’s a sadness in her eyes when she smiles. “That’s a lovely name. Thank you, Anaya.” 

There is a knot in Anaya’s chest and it hurts to breathe, but it’s easier now to take a breath than it was yesterday. 

At night she dreams of bubbling laughter and little hands dragging her outside to see the stars. She wakes up in the middle of the night when the neighbors next door have another fight. Anaya wonders how long it’s been since she’s heard laughter at all.

“Sitara,” Anaya asks haltingly the next morning. “How long can you stay?” Here. With me. The kitchen seems brighter than it has in a while. There are two steel plates of different sizes on the kitchen island; one is miniature. 

The fairy lies next to her tiny plate. “Typically, starcatchers stay until after their human makes their wish, to make sure they’re properly settled. In the case that the human gets more than one wish, the starcatcher would stay until there’s no more need for them.” 

“Here,” Anaya says, putting a tiny scoop of upma on her plate. “I don’t know how hungry you are. Let me know if you want more.” 

Sitara looks up at her carefully. “Is this the first time you’ve cooked for someone in a while?” 

Anaya smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t you know the answer already?”

“What happens,” Anaya asks at her desk at work, “if I never make my wish?” Sitara squints at her from her position next to Anaya’s keyboard. “Ever?” Anaya shrugs. “It’s nice to have someone around. And to talk out loud. Some days I feel like I’m fading away, and no one is even noticing.” 

Sitara flies up and puts a little hand on Anaya’s cheek. “Someone is noticing.” Her hand is warm. Anaya remembers how nice it is to be touched by something alive. “Why do you think I was sent to give you a star?” 

Sitting in the darkness of the patio swing again, Anaya is watching the sky. Once, there would have been someone next to her, snuggled into her side, and she would have looked up at these stars with her big brown eyes and said, Amma, tell me a story. 

Today, Sitara is sitting on her shoulder instead, and Anaya starts, “I didn’t think I would be a good mother. But now I don’t know how to be anything else. What am I now?”

“Mother is not a temporary state, you know. Nothing can take that away from you. Sometimes when you become something, you can’t unbecome it.” 

Anaya looks at the fairy, all blue and white-gold. “Maybe. But I don’t know what to do with what I have left.” 

The bush nearby rustles, and they both look over. A head peeks out, sheepish. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.” 

“It’s alright. Aren’t you from next door?” 

“Yes,” the girl says. “I just wanted to get out of the house.” 

“I understand.” Anaya stands up. “I meant to go and introduce myself when you all moved in. I’m sorry I didn’t. I was… not well.” 

It was seven months ago that they had moved in, and nine months ago that the accident had happened. Anaya had now spent as much time without her as she had carrying her. “Are you doing better now?” the child asks. 

“Maybe.” She walks over and offers her a hand. “Have you had dinner?”