"What about stars? What are stars like?"
Casey shoved him playfully. "I think you asked me that one already. Gimme a new one."
Brian shrugged and lay back against the hardwood floor. "We were twelve. Please, sis, just tell me what stars are like?"
She sighed, like she always did before she explained something. When she spoke, her voice was different than it was before. it was softer, like milk and honey, or like the last memory of a dream. "You're standing beneath an umbrella," she said, "and all around you it's raining. You stick your hand out and a thousand tiny droplets prick your palm and shatter in a million directions. If you listen, you can hear them. They sound like a baby, breathing."
"Stars must be beautiful."
"They are."
For a moment, brother and sister lay silently on the living room floor, listening to the fire crackling. From the mantlepiece, the ticking clock was a sordid reminder that life continued outside this room, that they were still lost in time's great flood. There was a picture on the mantlepiece, too, one of a family vacation from years ago. Casey, entirely flat in her striped bikini, splashed in a tide pool. Brian stood in the background, his fingers flying over a little shell he held in his hand. He was smiling, almost as if he could see it.
The present Brian lay sprawled there in front of the fire, unseeing eyes gazing off as he ran his thumb and forefinger over the hem of his Polar Fleece. "Are you going to be mad if I ask one more question?"
Casey watched his searching face. "Do I ever get to ask you a question?" she asked.
"You're not the blind one, Case."
"But what's it like, though, to be blind?"
Brian thought about his answer. As time slipped by and life got more complicated, he and Casey spent less and less time sprawled in front of the fire, laughing together or crying together or dreaming together. Maybe there would never be another chance to tell her about his eternal blindfold. He sighed. "You're standing at the edge of a cliff, your toes curled over the cold stone ledge. The wind is whispering in your ear and you know that if you could only understand the words you would know everything, everything. Somehow you know that the only way to decipher the wind's sweet language is to jump off the cliff. It hurts you to know that. But you jump. For a moment you're floating. . . and then you're falling, falling, falling, forever. But even as you fall, you can't understand the whispers of the wind. And then you hit the ground, and you realize that you never, ever will."
Her voice was small. "I'm sorry."
"It's not so bad. The wind sings lively songs, anyhow."
"Do you want to ask a question now?" she asked.
He wanted to ask her everything. H wanted her to show him what red looked like, and green. He wanted her to explain darkness and smiles and fire. Tomorrow would be busy, and the next day would be busier and before he knew it Casey would be gone. She would be happy and successful and grown up, and Brian would be her blind little brother, lost and aching. he had to ask her his most important question, because there might not be another chance. "Sunset. What's sunset like?"
He heard rustling, crinkling. "Open your mouth, Bri," she said quietly.
It was chocolate. It melted over his tongue, filling his mouth with a think, warm sweetness. He wiped his tongue over his teeth to savor every last bit.
He could practically hear Casey's smile. "That, little bro, is a sunset."
