Shooting Star Wishes

From the balcony of our tenth-floor apartment, I comb the sky with eager eyes hoping to see a shooting star.

“Stars are afraid of city lights, but a little song is always good for something.” Nana wraps her arms around me and hums a gentle tune.

“Star light, star bright,” I say, as a few pinpricks of light twinkle through the glow of the city night sky. These ordinary stars are for little wishes — everyday wishes — like getting extra frosting on your cupcake or finding a quarter on the sidewalk.

But shooting stars are different.

“Shooting stars are lucky,” Nana says. So I keep a special wish ready — ready for a shooting star to catch my wish in its tail and dance across the sky.

“There are too many lights tonight, sugarplum,” she says, “and I hear dreams calling.”

I nestle deeper in her arms hoping for a few more minutes of her warmth as much as I hope to see a shooting star.

“Tomorrow can’t come if you don’t dream tonight.” She kisses my hair and points me to bed.

I don’t remember my dreams when I wake up, but sure enough it’s a new day. Nana is humming in the kitchen. A little song is always good for something. I smell buttermilk biscuits! Buttermilk biscuits are Saturday biscuits, but today is Wednesday. She gives me one for each hand. Then it’s time for school.

Before the third floor, the elevator screeches to a stop and goes dark. The emergency light flickers on. My heart pounds so hard that I feel the beating in my ears. Nana rings the bell.

“Power’s down on the whole block,” calls Mr. Simon from above us.

Nana takes my hands, and we sing together in the dim elevator.

Before long, the ceiling opens, and Mr. Simon lowers a ladder. He helps us climb to the fourth floor landing. Nana takes my hand, and we walk down the stairs to the street as if it’s a regular thing to be rescued from a stuck elevator. Nana nods in the direction of school.

“I’m still going?”

“School has power, sugarplum.” She nudges my arm to get my feet moving, and we walk lickety-split all three blocks, so I’m not late.

The power is still off when I come home. We take it slow up the stairs.

After dinner and homework, we take biscuits and jam to the balcony and watch day turn to evening. Lights come on several blocks away, but it’s dark here.

“Stars might not be so afraid tonight,” I say.

I hum a tune, and Nana joins in.

Flash! A streak of light shoots across the sky — so sudden it hardly seems real. Nana stops humming and starts to laugh. That’s how I know it’s real.

She gives me a squeeze. “Don’t tell me now. Keep that wish secret, or it won’t come true.”

“How do you know I made a wish?”

“I could feel it, sugarplum.”

Like magic, I feel my wish holding tight to the tail of that shooting star, dancing across the sky to our songs.