Shea Winters

published 2022, as fiction in snapshots magazine Issue 2

“Look!” exclaimed Thebe’s father in a hushed tone, pointing up at the midnight blue sky with a long, outstretched hand. He was crouched besides the tiny Thebe, low enough that their heads were leveled, and Thebe could feel the warmth of their father’s chest at their back like a hug.

Thebe traced the line of their father’s arm with moon-wide eyes to find a dazzling canvas of millions of bright twinkling stars, stark against the dark of the night. They gasped aloud in amazement and felt a rumbling like an earthquake behind them as their father chuckled softly at their reaction. “It’s beautiful,” they declared, eyes darting across each dot in the sky like they were drawing lines between them and creating constellations.

Thebe’s father sighed, looking away from the dimming trail of light he had pointed at before and back to Thebe, whose eyes still gleamed with astonishment. “It’s gone. You missed it, bug.” He clasped a hand the size of a baseball mitt over the rounded edge of Thebe’s small, bony shoulder in consolation.

Thebe’s forehead wrinkled, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “No,” they objected with a slight pout on their lips. Thebe didn’t miss anything. They were still watching the sky as it bulged with the weight of its stars, drooping down like a heavy sack of Mom’s groceries. The more Thebe looked, the more they thought they could steal one; like a cookie from the cookie jar, poised on the top shelf in the pantry. Thebe just needed to pull up a kitchen chair, balance their weight on the thick, summer air, and stretch their arm until they could feel a slight burn in their shoulder.

They had practiced this method in the pantry enough times that the plastic jar no longer tipped over the edge with a loud clatter. Instead, their small hands were able to clasp around the canister and turn the lid enough for it to give a satisfying pop! and release the scent of warm chocolate chips into the air—and then to swiftly be swept into Thebe’s gaping mouth, of course. Thebe looked at the sky and wondered if they could pull the skyline down far enough to pluck a star from its sacred jar. He knew exactly where he would tuck it away and save it for later.

Thebe’s father watched his young, moon-eyed child with wonder. He looked back to the sky and tried to see what Thebe could be staring at with so much intensity. To him, it was just the sky. The blank slate with white, flashing speckles, like paint splattered on a black t-shirt. It was messy, collateral.

To Thebe, however, it was so much more. It was everything.

“Dad, how far away do you think the stars are from us?”

Thebe’s dad smiled and stood from his crouched position, feeling the ache in his joints, and ignoring it. He patted the hair on his offspring’s head and answered, “Very, very far.” This answer didn’t seem to satisfy Thebe. They stared harder at the blanket of stars and asked their father, “How do you know? Have you ever tried to reach one?” At this, Thebe’s father paused.

Upon seeing starlight reflected in Thebe’s eyes like a beacon, he was momentarily speechless, starstruck. “I don’t think I have.”

Thebe huffed in annoyance, fixing their gaze on their father with a sternness that was more suited for someone three times their age and size. “Try.”

It was a simple command, albeit a silly one, and if anyone else had ordered him to try to “reach the stars”, he would have laughed heartily at the foolishness. But Thebe looked at him with such earnest, it only took a second of hesitation before he looked up to the stars. It was as if he was seeing the sky for the first time, feeling the night breeze rush through his hair; it was glorious. Thousands upon thousands of dancing, twinkling lights. He caught one in his sights that looked almost close enough to touch. And, after taking a step forward to align himself, he unfurled the hand by his side, lifted it slowly to the air, and, stretched until his shoulder burned at the effort. But, alas, it was like running in a dream: the more he stretched, the farther the star seemed to get, until he could no longer bear it. His arm collapsed back to his side with a huff of despair.

Thebe was watching their father with a cocked head. It was a strange sight, if anyone else was to look. A grown, middle-aged man reaching for the stars, hopping on his tiptoes, desperately trying to reach the impossible. But Thebe didn’t think it was strange in the slightest. Instead, their mind was working, calculating what else was needed to capture a star outside of their long-limbed father.

It didn’t make sense to Thebe. Their dad was the biggest person they knew. He was taller than Thebe by a landslide, even when standing straight up on a kitchen chair. And then— suddenly, Thebe knew what to do.

Thebe’s dad could be the kitchen chair they needed to reach the top shelf of the night’s pantry. “Dad, let me on your shoulders!” They exclaimed, clamoring up to their father in a hurry and tugging on his wrist.

The disappointment Thebe’s dad felt seconds before dissipated at the hope within his child’s eyes. He folded himself tight enough for Thebe to crawl onto his back—ignoring the creak in his knees, the tension in his neck—he rounded his shoulders for Thebe to sit on. Then, when Thebe was in place, he rose slowly, teetering slightly. “Woah!” Thebe exclaimed.

“Hold on tight, bug.” Thebe’s dad squeezed out through gritted teeth.

Thebe squinted at the sky and tapped their father’s shoulders. “I need to be higher!”

“Thebe?”

But it was too late, Thebe was crawling up from their seated position and moving to stand upon their dad’s shoulders. Thebe’s dad, panicked, tried to focus his entire body into remaining centered to maintain the balance of his beloved child.

The higher Thebe stood, the closer the stars became. It was working! The air became thicker, the dark harder to wade through. They kept growing and growing and growing until finally, they decided it was time to reach. Their dad kept a tight hold on their feet, keeping them as grounded as one as high as Thebe could be. And so, Thebe stretched and stretched and stretched until, finally, their fingers brushed the soft, ambient light of the closest star. It was soft, feathery, weightless, and they grasped it by a wisp and pulled it down, collapsing onto their father’s back, and sliding down to the ground.

“We caught one!”

In their hands, was the smallest star Thebe’s father had ever seen. He touched the tuff of cotton from within the palm of his child’s hand and smiled. “You did it.” Ruffling Thebe’s hair, “I always knew you were destined for greatness.”