He walked into his new room, treading softly. He was inno hurry. He stopped in the doorway, looking at the posters of solar systemfacts, the Star Trek books and a television. His very own TV. He looked out thewindow at the clouds evaporating into the night air. The head of a light-hairedwoman poked around the slightly open door.

"Get ready for bed. Don'tforget to wash your face and brush your teeth, too," she said. This was his"substitute" mother, as he called her. She was the wife of a carsalesman he called his "substitute" dad.

"Yes," heresponded, returning his attention to the window after she left. He walked pastthe bed and the TV to the window. Opening it, he felt the air. It was wonderful.He lifted his left leg over the sill, and then his right. He walked to the edgeof the roof and sat, looking at the sky.

"I hate this. Why aren't youhere, Memah? And Dad, you? Why did you go? My new family knows nothing. Theytreat me like I'm stupid, like everything I've ever learned was a fantasy. I knowwho I am. I know who I am and that's everything. That's all that matters. Right?Right, Dad? Do you hear me?" he yelled. "Why am I still here while youdance in the night and only in the night when it is shining over me? Why do Ihave to talk to stars instead of your beautiful faces? I can still see yourfaces."

He pulled his legs to his chest and tightly wrapped his armsaround them, resting his chin on his knees. A chilling breeze blew by, sending aquick wave of shivers through his body. He ran his fingers through his shortcharcoal-brown hair, though at night it appeared black. Glossy black.

"They made me cut my hair yesterday." He ran his hand through his hairagain, slower this time, stopping at the end and holding it in front of his eyes.His beautiful brown eyes.

He moved closer to the edge of the roof andbegan to knock his heels into the white siding of the house. He looked up. Behindhim he could see what was left of the sun sneaking down the lip of the horizon,just a few highlights of pink, purple, orange and red. He turned back to thecoming blackness of the night. To the stars. To the moon. To the night. Italready stared down at the boy, its many eyes winking at him.

"Todaythe boys at school asked me to do a dance for them. I hate those boys. I hateeveryone here." He laid down and took a deep breath. "They all laugh atme. I don't understand."

The night air felt good on his face; thecold aluminum gave his neck goose bumps. He sat up. "I wonder, can you seeme? I wonder if you want to see me."

He looked down at the loosehose resting in the dirt two stories below. Next to it was a piece of glass,reminding the boy of the colored pieces of glass his mom used to make mosaicswith. "I want to see you." His brow wrinkled and he began to weep,quietly placing his head in the palms of his hands.

"Ricky!" avoice called from inside the house, breaking the night's stillness. The boyraised his head slowly and wiped his face with the back of his little hands. Helooked at the horizon. The moon was so bright now, with the sun fully resting. Itilluminated the trees, giving everything a violet cast. It was beautiful. It washis sweet oasis.

"Rick! It's time for bed," the ratherdisturbing voice called once more. The boy stood, walked toward his bedroomwindow and sat on the ledge.

"Good night, Ricky. Don't forget to sayyour prayers!" she called.

His nostrils flared and he looked at hisbedroom door. "My name is not Ricky, it is Mato Nupa," he said. Hiseyes widened.

"Good night, Mom and Dad," he spoke intothe night, still gazing at the stars. "I love you."