When you are thirteen years old and your father leaves, life changes.
He often wondered if it would have been easier if his father had just died. It would have been just an event. He could have grieved and moved on. Life would have continued.
But with his father just vanishing one day, it was like life seemed to stop.
Even four years later, Boyd still woke up, wandered into the kitchen for breakfast and expected to see his dad sitting at the table, paper opened in front of him. Just like the day before he left.
There was never any explanation about the why. His mom had been scared and stressed at first, wondering if something had happened to him. Police and shuffled in and out of the house, sometimes tousling his hair on the way out. Then the fear had turned to anger. Boyd felt he was always on the receiving end of it: somehow blamed for an event that was totally unexplained and out of his control.
Even when the anger subsided, even when his mom, forced to juggle two jobs just to make ends meet, eventually reconciled herself with the fact that her husband was gone, the rift between her and Boyd never really healed, just as the rift between Boyd and his father continued to grow.
If you asked him now, Boyd still couldn’t tell you why if his father was dead or alive. He would tell you that it didn’t matter, that he had forgotten about him, that he, his sister Ginny, and his mom were better off without him whether it was dead or living in some duplex in Albuquerque.
But one thing he could tell you: after his did disappeared, his luck changed for the better. In fact, it became legend.
His luck became legend.
Before Boyd breathed life into the City of Clay, before he stood in defiance to perhaps the greatest evil humanity may ever know, he was just an ordinary 12-year-old boy. Until the day his father vanished. On the morning of the following day, he found a roll of $426 dollars at the cemetery, in between two headstones of people’s names he couldn’t remember, as he took a shortcut to school he had never taken before. Then, just two days later, Tommy Ratcliff, the bully who had been tormenting him for most of the 6th grade, suddenly moved away.
And for four years since, his luck hadn’t dwindled.
A’s on tests when he never studied, finding money, always missing disaster or trouble that seemed to snare his friends.
In fact, since his father’s sudden absence, Boyd never lost a game of War, he could pick Bingo numbers before they were drawn, and no one could hide anything from him without him stumbling upon it later (which definitely included Christmas presents).
Both his friends and his friends-of-friends swore that they had never heard of a single quarter yielding an entire machine of gumballs or a single pack of hockey cards bearing all the entire series specials. When he played Call of Duty on Xbox, he always found the best weapons before anyone else. When he fell off his skateboard in a seemingly bone-breaking stunt, he never managed more than a scratch.
But despite all that luck, despite four years of impossible odds in his favor, Boyd felt his life was ordinary. In fact, although he’d never admit openly to it, especially to the therapist his mom insisted he start seeing, he would have given it all up for just one more day, one more hour, with his dad.
To Boyd, he felt that his luck was trying to fill the hole his father’s disappearance left, like the universe was throwing him a bone.
Only it wasn’t enough.
Not overly tall or too short, cropped blond hair that seemed to stick out at the strangest angles, Boyd Stone lived with his mom and sister in a small suburb of Los Angeles. Although he didn’t have the latest toys and clothes like some of his friends did (he’d saved his own money as a dog walker for a few of his neighbors to buy his Xbox; although a few $20 bills, found stuffed in crack of a bush seat, had helped with a much better version than he had originally planned) he wasn’t really wanting.
In fact, if it wasn’t for his incredible luck, Boyd would have thought no one would have even noticed him. And even his luck was unpredictable. He couldn’t make it do what he wanted it to. In fact, the more he tried to force it, the more it didn’t work. The unluckier he became.
Still, it helped a little to assuage the pang he had when he saw his friends with their dads, heard about how great baseball practice was with their dad coaching, or how awesome a time they’d had fishing with their father.
They had their dads, he had his luck.
Snuggled under his covers on the last day before winter break, he wondered why he was suddenly reminiscing about all his luck, about his dad.
He’s gone, Boyd thought, still gripped in that half-awake, half-sleep. Nothing is going to bring him back.
But he couldn’t deny it. No matter how much the luck brought him, it was never enough.
“Boyd!” his mother called from the kitchen. “Get up! You only have fifteen minutes before we have to leave for school!”
Boyd peeked out from under his covers.
A pale blue eye stared back at him.
“Get out of my room Ginny,” he mumbled as he pulled the blanket back up again.
“Mom said to get up jerkhead,” she said, leaping back even before the words left her lips as Boyd’s hand shot out to grab at the empty air.
“Mom,” Ginny yelled, “Boyd just tried to hit me!”
Boyd felt his body tense with anger, throwing off the blanket.
“Okay, okay, I’m getting up,” he said as he grabbed his pillow and smacked her with it. A small smile crossed his face at the look of utter shock on her six-year old face. She tried too much to be like his mom and that probably made it all the more enjoyable to catch her off guard with a pillow across her cheek.
Her short brown hair well-kept, but a non-descript style that hung at her shoulders, a style that screamed “I got my hair cut in my kitchen,” bounced in response to the shock.
“OW!” Ginny mouthed, putting her hand to her face once before running from Boyd’s room, screaming in mock pain and indignation.
Boyd just shook his head.
He didn’t think he’d get in trouble for it but there was never telling with his mom lately. She was on edge. Having just started a new job, she was always afraid of being late or upsetting her boss or whatever and so the stress in the house was at an all-time high.
Even though Boyd felt he was long over the issues of his dad, and had become numb to the anger that had driven his mom and him apart, well at least that’s what he told his therapist, it still panged when he thought of his dad—two years gone and not a peep.
“Boyd, come on!” His mother yelled again. “Ten minutes!”
Knowing that he had already pushed it to the limits, he stood up and quickly shook off the sleep, gathering clothes off the floor as he headed for the bathroom the moment made a little more palatable by his mother’s stern voice directed at his sister to “get over it.”
* * * * * *
By second class, Boyd was done with school.
Well, at least that’s what he told Sean, his best friend.
“What do you mean you’re done with school?” Sean whispered. They both sat in the fourth desk, in different rows, right across from each other. Although it made Biology a little more tolerable, the proximity to his friend probably contributed to Boyd’s average grades although on more than one occasion, Boyd was sure that it had contributed positively.
“I mean I’m done,” Boyd whispered back as Ms. Katz scribbled furiously on the board, mapping out DNA base pairs. “Gonna join the circus or something.”
“Oh whatever,” Sean said. “Jesus I think you’ve threatened to join the circus like fifty times. Let me know when you actually do it. I expect some free tickets.”
Boyd seethed over his best friend’s sarcasm but he knew the words were also true. He’d done a lot of threatening and complaining over the past years and it had all been just a bunch of hot air.
He sighed and put his head down on his arms, scattering several oragami creations—an elephant, a peacock, and something he called a cog, half cat, half dog.
This time, he thought, this time it’s going to be different. I swear it. When I get home, I’m packing and leaving.
Part of him didn’t really know why he wanted to leave so badly. It wasn’t like his home life was bad, well it could probably be better if his sister wasn’t around.
It was that something again.
That missing something feeling.
Like it was calling to him.
Whatever, he was determined this time…whether Sean believed him or not.
* * * * * *
Boyd stood in front of his sister’s school at 2:45, like usual, leaning against a huge oak tree whose barren branches, the leaves lost a few months ago, spanned over the street as cars moved lazily by, held in check by a police officer sitting on his motorbike meant to ensure they all obeyed the speed limit during school hours.
Boyd kicked at one of the roots, huge and gnarled, that had become exposed over the years. For just a second, he imagined a world where trees like this were deadly to people, their roots springing up through hard ground and concrete and pulling unsuspecting victims to their doom…
“Boyd! Let’s go!”
Like usual, his idle daydreaming was interrupted by his sister’s whining.
He glanced in her direction, the late afternoon sun glinting off her shiny blond curls.
Shaking his head, he pushed off the tree and started home.
Probably walking a little faster than he should, his sister protesting every minute or so, Boyd tried to figure out how he could leave without anyone noticing.
Well, at least not right away, he mused. I need a good few days head start if I have any chance of getting out of here and creating a life for myself.
He kicked at a soda can as he turned the corner to his street, turning his head just enough to glimpse his sister tromping after him, and smiling ruefully.
Boyd could see the apartment building just ahead, nestled amongst several others. Even though it was only about half a mile from his sister’s school, it always felt like the longest journey of his life. Not because he had to drag his sister but because he knew what he was walking towards.
He was sure that most of the kids in his apartment, some of which went to his school, didn’t feel like he did about where he lived. That it was a prison. But he was inclined to believe that his father had, that it was the reason he had left–stuck in a life with no imagination.
Like most days when he walked home, he thought about his dad. He’d disappeared just after Boyd’s ninth birthday. It hadn’t been anything exciting like a police chase or being kidnapped by aliens. No, he simply hadn’t come home from work. He remembered how frantic his mom had been, having to deal with his sister who was only a few months old. And it got worse, each day passing. No news. Boyd remembered the police officer arguing with his mom. She kept telling him that they needed to keep looking, that something had happened to him. The officer, though, probably frustrated at having received this assignment, told her again and again that he’d probably be back soon, that it happened than more wives wanted to admit, that he was sorry, and that there was nothing the police could do about it.
But most of all, Boyd remembered how he had felt, how he still felt.
Betrayed.
His dad had left him there to take on all his responsibilities—caring for his baby sister, earning money for the house by doing odd jobs.
And that memory made him seethe inside.
He didn’t want to leave to join the circus.
What he really wanted to do, and he’d never tell Sean or anyone else, was that he wanted to leave to find his dad…and bring him back.
* * * * * *
Boyd pushed the math book aside.
“No more Geometry,” he mumbled, rubbing his temples. Math had always given him a headache. It was so rigid, so rule based. He sighed and looked at the clock on his desk.
5:21.
He grunted, standing up and stretching. His mom would be home in an hour, and he was expected to have dinner ready. Macaroni and cheese. He could hear the TV blaring in the other room and knew that his sister was watching iCarly again. When he thought about his sister and that show, everything made so much sense.
Boyd glanced at the picture he’d been doodling while he had struggled through his Geometry. It was a city. An entire world, complete with flying cars, superpowers, and twin suns. He imagined himself living there, soaring through the clouds.
And then the clock ticked 5:22 and he sighed again.
Macaroni and Cheese.
* * * * * *
His mom came home just before 6:30, kissing first Boyd and then Ginny on the head. They had just finished their dinner, empty bowls pushed in front of them, replaced by Boyd’s choice for desert: homemade chocolate chip cookies. His own brand. In fact, even while his mom was putting her things down and putting the macaroni pot into the sink to fill with water, Boyd was admiring his cookie.
“So, I’ve got a surprise tonight,” his mother finally said as she turned off the sink water and dried her hands.
Boyd looked up from his cookie at her, standing with her back to the sink and the only window in the kitchen that looked out on a desolate, dismal park that lay between his and two other apartment buildings. Rusting monkey bars laying unused beneath scraggily trees dormant for the winter.
Ginny, though, was far more receptive.
“Ice cream? Are we going for ice cream?”
Boyd looked incredulously at her, the remnants of two cookies still on her face.
“Ginny, it looks like you already had desert,” his mother said. “Anyway, no, much better than that.”
She could see that Boyd was having no part of it and focused her attentions on her daughter.
“What do most good little boys and girls do before Christmas?” She asked.
Ginny was practically bouncing in her seat.
“Santa! Santa! Are we going to see Santa?” Ginny squealed.
It was almost too much for Boyd who let out a big sigh.
Although there were still a few 13-year olds who might have a little belief left in them for the jolly man of the North Pole, Boyd wasn’t one of them. For years his only request when sitting on Santa’s lap had been, “I want my dad back.” He even remembered one year when he’d gotten back in line, much to the chagrin of his mother who was busy dealing with an 18-month old Ginny, thinking that if he asked twice he might have a better chance of getting his wish.
But his dad had never been under the tree, wrapped in a neat little bow, or even sitting on the couch in his blue, fuzzy bathrobe like Boyd remembered him on Christmas mornings.
Because of that, Boyd had simply cast Santa’s abilities to grant wishes in the bin along with all the other myths that he’d come to realize were just a load of bunk: the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and a host of others.
“That’s right, we are going to see Santa, but we have to hurry. The bus leaves in just 15 minutes.
Boyd opened his mouth but was immediately cut short.
“And, yes, Boyd, you are going.”
Slumped shoulders, he picked up his cookie and stuffed it angrily into his mouth.
The trip to the mall where Santa was required two bus transfers putting them there around 8 o’clock. On each of the busses, Ginny’s joy seemed to grow proportionally to Boyd’s dejectedness as the proximity to Santa increased. More often than not, Boyd found himself staring out the window of the bus watching the cars pass by, wondering where the people inside were going. Sometimes he’d see a really fancy car with a kid in the back and a pang would hit him: mom and dad driving, talking, everyone happily returning from a night out at dinner. It made his stomach tie up in knots.
When they finally reached the mall, the bus dropping them off a fair walk away from the entrance, Boyd almost felt a little nervous like the old times when he’d eagerly wanted to see Santa, when he’d eagerly wanted to ask him that wish again.
Get a hold of yourself Boyd, he thought. Let’s just get this over with.
But perhaps his mom sensed it too for she put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. He didn’t have to look up at her to know that she was glaring at him.
“Fine,” he mumbled.
She let go of his shoulder and together, the three headed into the mall.
Just like Boyd figured, the mall was packed, especially the line to see Santa. Given it was Christmas Eve, everyone was in doing last-minute shopping, extending the mall’s hours to almost midnight.
He fought back a sigh and followed his mother, Ginny in tow, into line.
“Ginny, Boyd and I have to go do something really quick. Can you wait in line right here?” his mother asked.
“Sure mom. I’ll be standing right here.”
Her mom touched her lightly on the head, smiling.
“Well, unless the line moves forward,” Ginny said, rubbing her chin as if struck by the profound thought that she couldn’t physically stand right there and expect to stay in line.
“Come on Boyd, let’s go,” his mom said.
Even before they stepped around the corner, Boyd was preparing himself for what was coming.
“Boyd,” his mother said as she leaned down to look at him, surprised for a moment how tall he’d gotten…and how much he looked like his father. “I need you to be good for this. It’s important to Ginny.”
Boyd, though, was surprised by how tired his mom sounded and suddenly realized how hard it must be to raise two kids by herself.
“I know mom,” he said. “I’ll try and be excited.”
The thought of saying he was sorry flittered by.
“This year, Christmas is going to be small,” his mom whispered, realizing herself how tired she was, squeezing the bridge of her nose.
And before Boyd could stop himself, he blurted out the words,
“Just this year?”
He hadn’t consciously decided to make one of the sarcastic, snide remarks that got him in trouble at school. It was almost as if it had become automatic and part of him hated himself for that.
But what was worse was seeing his mom’s face: regret, pain, guilt all rolled into one.
It was just for a second before she covered it with the mask she always wore and became the stoic figure of mom again. Yet when she stood up, Boyd could see that something was different.
“Just make sure you do what I asked you to do,” his mother said, not bothering to look at him again before heading off back to line.
Boyd, head down, followed in her steps.
The line moved forward at a numbingly slow pace and Boyd soon lost all interest in reality. He saw real elves hiding in the fake, plastic trees. He saw the ornaments coming to life—plastic reindeers, sleds, huge candy canes the size of his leg—all fighting a fantastic battle in the mall foray, underneath the huge glass ceiling above that showed a starless, moonless night.
By the time Boyd had reached the front of the line, even his imagination was spent.
“Okay, you first,” the young woman said. She was dressed in an elf costume—red shorts and suspenders, stripped red and white shirt, green tights, and a ridiculous pointed hat that flopped over with a small bell. Had Boyd been any less emotionally drained, he might have thought to make some snide comment. But his lips and quick tongue failed him while he sauntered mindlessly to Santa.
Yet when he approached, the jolly man on the chair wasn’t smiling.
“Tough life kid?” He asked.
Boyd gave him a quizzical look.
“Apparently not as tough as yours,” Boyd said, the restraint at holding back his tongue quickly fading. The guy on the seat looked like all the other Santas he’d seen throughout his life—old, paunchy; fake.
Probably needs this job just to make his rent, Boyd thought feeling the crushing weight of years of Christmas Eve memories haunting him.
“I suppose that mouth has gotten you in plenty of trouble,” he said, gesturing to his knee.
“What, you want me to sit on your lap?”
“That is how it goes.”
I can’t do this, Boyd thought as he rolled his eyes and looked back in line at his mom and Ginny. While it looked like his sister wouldn’t survive another moment without sitting on the jolly man’s lap, his mom just glared at him with that you promised sort of look.
Just walk away, he thought. What possibly could she do to me? I’ll just run away and join the circus.
He turned back to look at Santa, perhaps to make one parting comment, about how it took a failure like him to listen to people’s wishes knowing he could never grant them, when he realized that something had changed.
Something wasn’t right about the Santa. Boyd couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was different.
First, he was smiling.
“Boyd, please sit down,” he said.
Second, his voice was deep and luxurious. It wrapped around Boyd with a warmth of childhood nostalgia, of hopes and expectations never realized, hoped for and only abandoned.
“How do you know my name?” Boyd whispered.
Third, it seemed that for everyone else, time had stopped.
Boyd glanced around quickly. Ginny. His mom. Even the kind-of-cute girl in the ridiculous elf outfit. All of them were standing completely still, like statues. Words in mid-sentence, itches in mid scratch.
“What…,” Boyd started to say when he felt a tug on his heart. The same tug he’d felt every year of his life on this same day—the anticipation of seeing Santa and asking for his dad back.
“Don’t worry about them for right now,” Santa said. “Please come sit with me. Just one last time.”
Boyd couldn’t find the words and so he let himself be led by long-buried desires and dreams to Santa’s lap where he gently sat down on the old man’s knee.
“Wow, you have gotten heavy,” Santa said, smirking.
“Who are you? You’re not the guy I was just talking with a second ago,” Boyd replied.
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t bring your dad back,” Santa said suddenly. It was the last thing that Boyd would have imagined anyone saying to him. And even before he could think otherwise, he was crying.
It was a deep, rolling sob pent up for years, built up every Christmas day when he realized that Santa hadn’t granted his wish again. And it all came loose now.
Santa, though, didn’t do anything. He just let Boyd cry.
When Boyd’s sobbing slowed, he felt almost relieved as if so much emotional baggage had been taken away from him to be stored in the overhead compartment of his life—there, but not at his feet anymore.
“Feel better?” Santa asked.
That’s when Boyd realized he was still sitting on his lap and that everyone else was still frozen in time.
“Who are you?” Boyd asked, wiping away the tears with his shirt sleeve.
Santa, though, just smiled.
“No!” Boyd said. “No way.”
“Well, I’d banter a little with you if I thought that you needed convincing. But deep down, you still have hope. I can feel it. And, well,” Santa said, waving his hand around, “kind of hard to deny that I did stop time so that we could chat.”
“Holy crap,” Boyd whispered, staring hard at the old man and his bushy white beard, comparing him to every mental image he had of the real Santa—rosy cheeks, snow white beard, busy eyebrows, jolly eyes.
Everything to a tee.
“But,” Boyd started to say when Santa held up his hand.
“Even though I stopped time, I can’t keep it stopped forever. Creates other problems,” he said. “I realize that I let you down for so many years and that’s not something I take lightly. I’ve tried to grant everyone’s wishes at one point or another, especially when they are children.” He stopped as if to mull something. “Well, most everyone. But some children ask for ridiculous things. Others ask for selfish things. Others, like you, ask for things for others.”
“My dad,” Boyd whispered.
“I don’t think you were wishing for him back for just you,” he said and when Boyd looked into his eyes, he knew that he hadn’t been. All those years he’d been angry with his dad for leaving him, he’d really been angry for his dad leaving the family. His mom. Ginny.
“You are far more selfless than you can imagine,” Santa continued, and Boyd caught something else in his eye, some sort of recognition. “And that’s why I wanted to grant you a wish.”
“Really?”
“Really. But within reason. Don’t wish for a billion dollars. I can’t do that. Money doesn’t just materialize.”
Boyd had to smile. He hadn’t been thinking about that specifically, but the thought was exciting.
“This is your time to think of yourself,” Santa said. “This is a wish just for you.”
Boyd’s imagination exploded—laser guns, spaceships, a pet dragon, real live army men.
“Think about it,” Santa said suddenly. “I can’t hold time any longer.”
“But I haven’t made my wish yet,” Boyd started to say when Santa just smiled.
“Don’t worry. There will be a package on your doorstep when you get back home tonight. You must open it immediately and you must cast your wish before midnight. Understand?”
Boyd nodded, his mind still working feverishly on what he might wish for.
“Midnight, Boyd. Midnight,” Santa said as Boyd stood up.
Still in a daze, Boyd turned back to look at his mom and Ginny but instead of still being frozen in time, Ginny was again bouncing like a crazed wind-up toy and his mom was still glaring at him. He snapped back around to look at Santa who was, again, the imposter.
“Hey, if you aren’t going to get with the program beat it,” Santa grumbled.
But Boyd was too busy lost in the memory of what had just happened to even respond. Numbly, he stepped aside to allow for Ginny to approach. Like a feral cat released from an Animal Control cage, she sprung at the man’s leg, claws and all. Boyd didn’t watch the result, though. He locked eyes with his mom and knew that she’d thought he’d let her down. But he wasn’t about to tell her that he’d sat on the real Santa’s lap. Something warned him that wouldn’t go over very well.
* * * * * *
The ride home was a painful one.
But not because Boyd knew he was in the doghouse. More because he knew he had to keep secret not only the secret meeting with the real Santa but also the impending delivery.
He looked at his watch.
11:36.
Man, he thought. Hurry up stupid bus driver!
He wanted to yell at him to speed it up.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ginny asked, picking up on Boyd’s restless energy.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just gotta pee.”
“Should have gone at the mall when mom asked,” she replied smugly.
When they finally got off at their bus stop, it was already 11:51.
And as soon as Boyd’s feet hit the ground, he was sprinting for the apartment, headless of his mom’s shouts to wait for them.
“Gotta pee,” he yelled, not really caring if they heard him or not.
He’d never run faster in his life, but he needed to see that package, needed to know that it was all real.
He took the steps up to his apartment by twos.
First floor.
Second floor.
Third floor.
The elevator, a column in the middle, shot downwards and Boyd knew it would be his mom and sister.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Finally, the sixth.
Huffing and puffing, Boyd sprinted down the hallway and made a quick left.
Even before he got to his door, he could see the package out front.
Words couldn’t describe his feeling of absolute joy, of not only having just met the real Santa but of having a wish at his fingertips.
Racing down the hall, he snatched the small package up and jammed his key into the lock.
He glanced briefly at his watch.
11:57.
The elevator dinged and he knew that his mom and sister would be there in just a few seconds. He raced into the family room and looked frantically about. Couch? No. Dining table? No. He moved into the kitchen frantically. He knew that he could run to his room and shut the door, but something told him that with the mood his mom was in, she might just come barging right in and he had no idea what was in the box, nor was he prepared to answer any questions.
11:58.
Then it struck him.
The one place he could be alone. Where he could lock the door, and no one would ask any questions about it.
Without another thought, he raced into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, locking it. Small by bathroom standards, it was just a counter with a single sink, a toilet, and a shower. Two brown towels hung from a tower bar and a colorful yellow toothbrush holder sported green and pink brushes. Even to Sam’s untrained decorative eye, it was bland and boring.
But private.
He sat down on the toilet seat and looked at the small package.
It was addressed simply:
To Master Boyd Stone
And his address. It was a wrapped neatly in brown paper and carried a bright red stamp on the side: a silhouette of Rudolf’s nose, glowing, with a ring around the image that said Santa’s Special Delivery Service.
Santa’s Special Delivery Service, Boyd mouthed. It really did happen!
With trembling fingers and a glance at his watch, he ripped the brown paper wrapping off to reveal a small red box with a white bow. A blue tag hanging from the bow read,
Open at midnight.
And there was some fine print:
That’s in one minute.
Carefully, Boyd untied the bow and lifted the lid off the box. Inside was another, smaller box. This one was all white and it almost glowed. A folded piece of paper rested on top.
Boyd’s heart pounded.
He picked up the note and opened it. Each word he read made his heart pound even harder, threatening to rip through Boyd’s chest.
Contained in this box is a Midnight Star which entitles you to one wish. The wish will be cast as soon as you lay eyes on it (aka, when you open the box, Boyd). So, clear your mind. Think carefully. And, most importantly, think of yourself.
Your Friend,
Santa
P.S. you must cast this wish at midnight.
P.P.S. that’s now. Hurry up. You’ve only got a few seconds.
Boyd could hardly breathe.
A wish! He thought. Oh my god, I get a real wish!
In the blink of an eye, he imagined everything he could wish for again—money, power, good looks. Money. Boyd smiled thinking of treasure chests and jewels and gold and everything he could do for his mom and sister, how he could mount an exhaustive search for his father and reunite his family.
But suddenly Boyd thought about where he was opening this gift, how he had to run to the bathroom because it was the only place he could get by himself, and he suddenly resented his entire life.
There was nothing for just him. No place. Nowhere to go.
Filled with a fiery anger, he wanted nothing more than a place he could call his own where his mom couldn’t find him, his sister couldn’t bother him, and, most of all, he made all the rules.
This is your time to think of yourself, Boyd thought, remembering what Santa had said.
And as the last ticks of midnight clicked off the clock, Boyd opened the small white box.
Quite frankly, he had no idea what to expect. His imagination couldn’t even comprehend what a midnight star might look like. If it was anything like the stars that he’d been studying in science, he feared for his eyebrows (and the entire inside of the bathroom).
But when the lid came off the small white box, there was just a huge flash of light, so bright and so fast that Boyd didn’t have time to look away. When it was gone, spots danced before him, and he suddenly feared that he’d gone blind.
“Boyd, what was that?” His mom suddenly asked from the other side of the bathroom door.
Boyd quickly realized that the light must have been bright enough to be seen under the door.
“Nothing mom, just a power surge I guess,” he said, still rubbing his eyes. What he didn’t know was that like all midnight stars that were fortunate enough to grant a wish, the light had been so powerful that it had gone through walls, through ceilings, into bedrooms, bringing with it a feeling of contentment and completeness, as if something that had been left undone for so long was now complete. People smiled in their sleep, nightmares were banished, crying children quieted, dogs nuzzled with cats, and the universe, for one single moment, existed in harmony.
“I love you Boyd,” his mom suddenly said. “Don’t stay up too late, okay? Don’t want Santa to pass us by.”
He could hear the weariness in her voice. But there was something there as well, some bit of contentment from the light of the midnight star.
Boyd smiled as his sight slowly cleared. He looked down at his hands. The entire package and note were gone.
He thought about the stamp on the side.
SSDS.
Nope, no chance of that, he thought, smiling.
Boyd stayed in the bathroom for a few minutes more, waiting until he heard his mom’s bedroom door close.
He wondered about his wish as he got up and opened.
I wonder what it will mean? He thought. Where will my special place be?
Filled with a boiling excitement, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to get to bed. Tiptoeing to his room in the dark hallway, not wanting to talk to either his mom or his sister for fear they might somehow see the happiness on his face (he didn’t realize he was actually glowing with the residue of the midnight star’s powerful light), he quietly closed his bedroom door and laid down on the bed, not even bothering to get un-dressed.
His mind was filled with wild images of faraway places, with dragons, and swords, crazy machines, strange creatures, powerful forces he had to defeat.
And before he knew it, he was asleep.
But Boyd’s night was far from over.
For as the real world faded away, the dream world took hold and Boyd’s mind was filled with powerful images of himself building a monstrous city. It started with a huge piece of cardboard, perhaps as big as his bed, and a pile of grey clay. His hands shaped the clay into buildings and hills and trees and mountains. In his dream he dumped his Legos out and incorporated them into the city, creating bridges, building castles. Everything he could find, Tinker Toys, Army men, action figures and their weapons, small stuffed animals, and even branches from the leaves outside and a few potted plants from Ms. Nesbith’s apartment next door. His hands were filled with the same strange light from the midnight star, pulling things out of thin air that he didn’t even know he had—toys, building materials, pages from books, food and utensils from the pantry. The city was huge, filling almost his entire bedroom and spanning what must have been miles and miles of land.
What Boyd didn’t know, though, was that his dream was more than just a dream and had his sister or mom wandered by his room, they would have noticed the door outlined in a strange and powerful light and perhaps even felt the power emanating from the room as Boyd constructed a city of which the likes had never been seen before.
And in that dream, all the materials spent, the light in his hands dwindling, Boyd felt absolutely spent, like he’d been running for a hundred years and could finally stop. As he collapsed in his dream bed, the city shrunk, shifting down until it was just big enough to slide underneath the frame and disappear into the darkness underneath where all little boys stored the junk that their monsters fed off.