3474 words
\nBefore he died, my dad fished stars for a living. Sucked them straight\nout of the sky with a glorified mechanical fishing rod. Of all the\npossessions that I inherited, the starfisher was dad's truest legacy. I\npicked up where he left off, expanding on his star smuggling business as\nhe would've wanted. All I had to do was find the people who'd wished on\nstars when they were children and offer them one of two options: pay me\nto keep their star in the sky or pay me to fish it free. Most clients\npaid a hefty fee to let their star fall by natural means and make their\nwish come true. Others regretted their childhood wishes and wanted me to\npluck them from the sky before they could be fulfilled. There was money\nto be made in either case. At least until the starfisher broke.
\n\"Totally dead,\" I lament. \"No power. Can't reel in any stars.\"
\nLoirelle threads her spindly fingers through my hair where we lay in\nbed. Twin moons cast a purple sheen that peers inside our bedroom as if\nit knows a joke we don't.
\n\"Hire someone who can take it apart and tell you how to re-charge it,\"\nshe says. Her fingers snag on one of my curls. I wince and pull away,\nrubbing at the sore spot.
\n\"If I have someone look at it, I'll give away the secret to the family\nbusiness.\"
\nShe blinks at me. The light is dim enough that the horizontal slits of\nher eyes look nearly circular. She had them modified in her twenties\nwhen the technology wasn't as refined as it is now, but I think she was\nimpatient and didn't want to save for something better.
\n\"But it's patented,\" she finally says. \"They can't legally copy it.\"
\nI fall back on my pillow with a sigh. \"This isn't strictly a legal\nbusiness, though.\"
\nShe leans forward until she hovers above me. \"Well. Okay. That's true.\"\nIt's not exactly an answer, but I'm not even sure what I'm asking at\nthis point, so I let it go.
\nDad's patent for his 'fisher was approved as an alternate power source.\nNot to extort money out of people who either wanted their dreams to come\ntrue or who regretted them so badly that they'd pay for the service in\neither case. Dad himself belonged to the latter category. He built the\nstarfisher because he made a bad wish as a child. One that he came to\nregret only when his own father was killed in a mining accident on\nEarth's moon. His mother should've been happy with that outcome, given\nher husband's temperamental behavior, but children don't understand how\nthat kind of happiness really works. Ever since then, guilt had painted\nblack lines beneath dad's eyes every hour of the day. It was why he'd\nleft earth.
\nI drag Loirelle's head down to rest on my chest. Her cheek is hot\nagainst my skin.
\nSpeaking into her hair, I mumble, \"There's only one person I can go to\nwith this.\"
\nHer shoulders tense. I knew they would. \"His asking price will be too\nhigh.\"
\nI inhale deeply. \"But he'll honor any deal I make with him. Unlike\nothers.\"
\nHer fingers skid across the lines of my stomach, skittish in their\ntravel although they've followed the path many times before. She clearly\nunderstands what I have to do—those fingers tell me as much—but that\nonly makes the situation worse.
\nAs I fall asleep with Loirelle sprawled across me, I think of my own\nsecret star up in the sky. Of the decision I've put off for too long and\nmust make before it's too late.
\n#
\nAs soon as dawn bruises red across the horizon, I sneak out of the house\nand onto the rain-slick streets. Loirelle is still asleep. My mind is\nset, but not enough that she can't talk it into circles. I can't afford\nthat, though, and so I leave home without risking it.
\nWhen I burst into Glimm's shop, buffeted by the rain, everything looks\nas I remember. It's a mess, of course. All tinkerer shops are messes,\nespecially independent ones, but Glimm's has a particular bend. I used\nto help stock these shelves. At first glance, a lot of that inventory is\nstill here. Too much, considering its worth and rarity.
\nI don't want to dwell on that, so I yell for the man himself. \"You've\ngot business!\"
\nGlimm lumbers free from the back of the shop, big body stained by sweat\nand soot. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees me. I don't wait for\nhim to talk but drop my dad's starfisher onto the nearest clean surface.\nIt makes a dull sound when it lands, swaddled in pale fabric that does\nlittle to brighten the cluttered space. Placing a steadying hand on the\nfabric, I say, \"I need to know how to power it back up. It's dead. Just\nname your price and let's be done with it, okay?\"
\nGlimm doesn't move. The moment is staticky. I feel it run along my skin\nlike cheap soap. I wish I had soap right now, but nothing could fully\ncleanse me of this place. It's not the first time we've seen each other\nsince I left, but each time still feels like the first. I wonder if that\nwill ever stop. If either of us will ever break our professional ties\nnow that we no longer have any personal ones. But I'm the only person\nout there with a starfisher, and Glimm is the only repairman and\ntinkerer that I'll trust with dad's legacy.
\n\"You don't get to order me around,\" he finally says. \"Not in my own\nshop.\"
\nI want to haul the bundle of fabric back over my shoulder, but I channel\nthat energy into loosening my jaw instead. \"Name your price, please.\"
\n\"Think you can buy me.\" It's not a question, but he ambles closer. He's\ninterested.
\n\"I know I can buy you\"—I flip the fabric off dad's device—\"with\nthis, yes.\"
\n\"I know what it is,\" he says, sucking on his bottom lip. \"Don't need to\nsee it to know.\"
\nI flip the fabric back over the metal device. Glimm flinches as if I've\nstruck him. He falls back with a sneer, dropping the dirty rag he's been\nholding until now. His thumb is bloodied. Of course he'd try to stifle\nan injury with a dirty rag.
\nI'm about to ask him a third time—the last time—when he speaks.
\n\"I want your star,\" he says.
\n\"My...\" I trail off. Then I hiss, \"Did your brain melt outta your ears?\"
\nMy star connects me to a time when dad was still alive and our\nrelationship was untainted by money and business. Glimm can't have that.\nNobody can.
\nHe smirks. \"If I can't have your heart, then I wanna be your wish.\"
\n\"You wouldn't be my wish, Lim. You'd just own it. And you can't do\nshit with it. It'll be dead and gone once you're holding it between your\ngreedy-ass hands.\"
\n\"But that's my price. Your star. Your wish.\" He's unrepentant. It's an\nugly look and not one that I associate with him. He has been many things\nto me, and he still is something to me, but this might be what breaks\nthe last of it. I don't know what to say. I'm floundering.
\nI finally settle on, \"I never should've told you about it.\"
\nWe know from history that wishing upon stars used to be only a metaphor.\nSomething said and done out of desperation. But at some point, it became\na thing—and then it became the thing. Everybody did it. Still does\nit. Not all the stars will take, of course. Some years are better than\nothers, as with crops. There's a whole field of study aimed at reading\nthe collective mind of the stars. Meanwhile, I'm trying to read the mind\nof the man that has asked me for my own star instead of my heart that he\nlost a long time ago.
\n\"If you hadn't told me 'bout it,\" Glimm says, \"there'd be nobody to help\nyou now.\"
\nI shake my head, dizzy with it. \"You'd have named another price, that's\nall.\"
\nBut he has me. He knows he does. That's why he says nothing more. As he\nwaits, he presses his bloodied thumb against his palm, curling his other\nfingers around it until his hand is a fist. He's nothing like Loirelle,\nbut in many ways I miss that.
\n\"I already plucked it free,\" I say.
\n\"You're lying. It's still up there.\"
\n\"And what the fuck do you know about that?\" I bite my lip and backtrack.\n\"Okay. Say it's still up there. Then I need to get it for you, right?\nBut I don't have anything to get it with, do I?\" I let the silence\nlinger for a strategic heartbeat. \"So if you want my star, Lim, then you\nneed to fix dad's 'fisher first. Otherwise, I can't damn well get it for\nyou as payment, can I?\"
\nStar smuggling is ripe with grudges and hurt feelings. When you deal in\ndreams and regrets, you're bound to step on a lot of toes. That's why\nI've kept my own star under tight wraps. Glimm knows because he's Glimm.\nThat used to matter. Perversely, it still does.
\n\"I'll take your word for it,\" Glimm says. \"Promise me and I'll deliver.\"
\nOur eyes meet. I imagine mine are about to fall out of my head. \"You're\nasking me for my star of all fucking things, but you'll take nothing but\nmy word for it?\"
\nHe holds my stare. \"Is your word no longer any good?\"
\nI'm not sure what either of us is trying to prove to the other, but I\ndon't blink when I answer, \"Oh, no, it's never been better. The surest\ncurrency you'll ever have.\"
\nSome people have water under their bridges. Glimm and I have the driest\nof deserts. Every little thing sticks to it like glue. Melts right into\nthe sand. Lasts and lasts and lasts.
\nI leave the shop behind, thinking I should've let Loirelle run me in\ncircles.
\n#
\nWhen I come home, Loirelle is there. Paint is smeared across her\nclothes. She's working from home today, in the studio out back, where\nshe sells paintings made from seashells and driftwood. There's enough of\nthat here. Enough rain. Enough ocean. Loirelle isn't just a piece of art\nherself; she also makes it. She sees it everywhere. One of her trademark\npaintings hangs above our bed. It's fluorescent with starlight.
\nLike a piece of driftwood, Loirelle sidles closer to me. \"So?\"
\nI pour a glass of water and drop a pink painkiller into it. \"So?\"
\nShe purses her lips. \"What did he ask for? You haven't brought the\n'fisher back home, so you must've left it with him. You must've agreed\nto his terms, yeah?\"
\nI down my glass of water and smack my lips at the medicinal aftertaste.\nLoirelle stares at me. Waits for me as I search for my words. In the\nend, I give up, telling her plainly, \"He asked me for my star.\"
\n\"You...\" She draws back a little. \"You have one?\"
\nShe doesn't know, is the thing. Only Glimm knew. And dad, of course.
\n\"I do.\" I drop my glass into the sink where Loirelle must've cleaned her\nbrushes minutes ago. Clotted paint surrounds the drain. \"And now I guess\nI don't.\"
\n\"You have a wish.\" Loirelle crosses her arms. Or hugs herself. I can't\ntell the difference right now. I'm wearing my insides on my outside and\nevery thought hurts with the exposure. \"You have a star,\" she says, \"and\nyou never told me.\"
\n\"Because it's just a star, Elle. I deal in stars every day.\"
\n\"But it's your star,\" she insists. \"That's no regular thing.\"
\n\"That doesn't really make a difference to me, though.\"
\nLoirelle softens at my obvious lie. \"What did you wish for? Is it still\nin the sky?\"
\nI lean against the cupboard and pick at a particularly vicious hangnail\non my middle finger. An image of Glimm's bloodied thumb springs to my\nmind. I rip off the hangnail with a wince. Then I ask Loirelle, \"Did you\nknow my dad wished for his dad to die? He wished it upon a star and it\ncame true?\" I'm aware that she doesn't know, of course, so I don't\nexpect an answer. \"My grandfather didn't treat my grandmother well.\nNothing as bad as what my dad thought at the time, but... all the same.\"
\nLoirelle slips an arm around my waist and leans her head on my shoulder.\nI accommodate easily. \"What does Glimm want with your star?\" she asks.
\n\"To frame it and display it somewhere, probably.\" I rest my cheek\nagainst her scalp. \"That's the best-case scenario. He might eat it.\nMight jerk off on it. Who the hell knows.\"
\nThe seconds linger. \"Come,\" Loirelle says, pulling me away from the sink\nand towards an empty canvas. \"Help me settle on the color palette for\nthis commission.\"
\nI follow her lead, both of us pretending that I'm the one helping her\nwhen she's really the one helping me. For all the talk of stars in the\nsky, I have my own star on the ground.
\n#
\nGlimm calls me about a week later. He says he's discovered the power\nsource for the 'fisher. I don't waste any time getting to his shop,\nalthough Loirelle stops me on my way out to plant a kiss on my mouth. I\nwish I had let her do that the last time I went.
\nI don't have to find Glimm when I arrive this time. He's already\nwaiting, sitting on a three-legged steel stool with my dad's 'fisher\nspread across his lap.
\n\"Doesn't look fixed to me,\" I say. \"Looks as dead as before.\"
\n\"It is,\" he agrees. I'm about to puff up, but then he adds, \"It runs on\nstar power.\"
\nMy world narrows to a slit of angry, pulsating light. I hate that I've\nnever once considered this answer myself. I'm a fool. \"You're fucking\nkidding me.\"
\n\"Not kidding you. It runs on the power it's patented to harvest.\"
\n\"So how did he catch the first one?\" I ask, but I already know the\nanswer.
\n\"There's only one way,\" Glimm confirms, sliding off the chair with the\n'fisher.
\nYour star will come to you, falling from the sky when your wish finally\ncomes true. When the conditions are right. The wish is spent, but the\nstar lives on. At least for a while. Dad must've used his own damn star\nbefore it could die. It fell when his wish came true—when my\ngrandfather died in the mines—and he must've used its dregs to power\nthe 'fisher all those years ago, but was too ashamed to ever tell me as\nmuch.
\n\"If you want me to fix it right and proper,\" Glimm says, depositing the\n'fisher on the worktable. \"I'll need to do a trial run. Maybe two.\"
\n\"So you need more stars from me.\"
\n\"No need to get snippy 'bout it.\"
\n\"Those stars put food on my table.\"
\nI sell the stars that I fish from the sky for extra profit. They make\nfor a great alternate, if rare, power source. In hindsight, it seems\nobvious that dad powered his 'fisher with stars.
\n\"You ain't starving,\" Glimm says. \"And you need more of them shiny\nbuggers in the future, don't you? Seems to me this is a pretty easy\npuzzle. Give it a think. But I keep the 'fisher till you're done\nthinking.\"
\nI leave the shop once again, wishing that I'd brought Loirelle along for\nemotional backup, but fully aware that some wishes are as pointless as\ncan be.
\n#
\nI know the exact coordinates of my star that has yet to fall but drags\ncloser to the horizon night by night. The coordinates are logged into my\ntelescope facing out the bedroom window. There's no deadline or\nexpiration date. Your wish can come true seconds before your last\nbreath, but I know mine is getting ready. The conditions are right. The\ntime is right. It's been like that for a while now. I understand the\nmovements of the stars better than anybody else on this planet. Even if\nGlimm hadn't forced my hand, I would've had to make a decision soon.
\nLoirelle rustles awake in the bed behind me, but I stay by the\ntelescope.
\n\"I wished to leave,\" I say, peeling my eye from the lens. \"That was my\nwish.\"
\nLoirelle sits up straighter and pushes her hair off her face. It's a\ncloudy night that obscures both the twin purple moons and my star, but\nthe sweet lines of Loirelle's body are lit up by the painting of\nstarlight, driftwood, and seashells above our bed. As I watch, Loirelle\ndrapes the frumpy bedsheet around her body and stands up, gliding\ncloser.
\n\"Leave?\" she asks.
\nI rest a hand on the telescope and smile. \"Leave for the stars.\"
\nHer mouth pops open. \"Leave... home, you mean? Here?\"
\n\"Leave for the unknown.\" I pause. \"Isn't it unfair? To live a life with\na star in the sky, knowing that your future is literally written on it?\nThat you wrote it yourself, blinding yourself to all the other futures\nyou couldn't possibly imagine at eight years old?\"
\n\"I wouldn't know,\" Loirelle answers, slow and sure. \"I don't have a\nstar.\"
\nI remember how I felt that night when I folded my hands, leaned out the\nwindow—and wished. But I have other wishes now. One of them sleeps\nin my bed, shares my meals, and breathes my air. Loirelle is a future\nthat I was too young to consider at the time, but I consider it now. My\ndad couldn't take back his wish and he came to hate himself for it. I\nmay have inherited his legacy, but I don't have to be like him. I still\nhave time.
\n\"I like the home we've built here,\" Loirelle says. Her voice is\nperfectly flat and neutral. She is perfect. So, so perfect. \"But no\nmatter your choice, I'll be there for it.\"
\nI've done my best to live up to dad's memory for years, long before I\never even met Loirelle. I have never once considered removing my star\nfrom the sky. It would feel too much like a betrayal. Like severing my\nlast pure connection to dad that's not tied up in money and business and\nhurt. It's always been inevitable to me that I'd leave this place and\nthus also Loirelle. That I'd let my star fall. But then Glimm comes\nalong and demands my damn star as payment for services rendered, and\nsuddenly the situation seems less inevitable and more hypothetical. I\nknow what relief feels like. Gratitude, too.
\nI know what I'm feeling, damn it all to hell.
\nWhen I beckon Loirelle into my arms, she comes as easily as ever. I\nstart to sway us where we stand and Loirelle picks up on the movement.\nShe joins me in the ghost of a dance that nudges the telescope aside\nuntil it loses sight of my star in the sky.
\n#
\n\"Get dad's 'fisher going,\" I tell Glimm the following day when I enter\nhis workshop with a satchel of stars in one hand. I throw the satchel at\nhim where he sits on his three-legged stool. \"Power it up with these. I\nhave clients lined up for all of next week.\"
\nGlimm grabs the satchel with a grunt. It's the last of my stash. He\ncan't check the contents—not without the proper protective gear—and\nI bask in that small victory.
\n\"And my payment?\" he asks. \"Your star?\"
\n\"Yours to do with as you please,\" I promise with a bittersweet smile.\n\"As soon as you get that 'fisher going, you'll have it. You said my word\nwas enough. This is my word.\"
\nI leave the shop with my head held high, unburdened for the first time\nsince my dad died. I've made my choice. Even with the ever-present rain\nsoaking my hair and shoes, I'm confident in the future I've chosen for\nmyself.
\nDad never would've wanted me to make the same mistake that he did. He\nnever would've wanted me to let my star fall. Hell, he pretty much\nshoved his 'fisher at me on his deathbed. I've always imagined that he\ngave it to me so I could continue the family business, but perhaps he\nleft it with me so I'd always have a choice. So I could undo my\nwish—because wishes don't have to be written in the literal stars to\nchange your life.
\n© 2025 A. R. Frederiksen
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