Little Timmy loved pirates. His father, upon returning from work, would almost always procure some new book or prop to help fuel his imagination. He would sit Little Timmy down in the sitting room (where else?) and with plenty of arm waving, would excite him with tall tales of where his occupation took him and his jumpsuited crew this time. Then, with a flourish befitting a most pretentious perfumer, he would reach into his satchel, brown and cracked leather from years of good use, and produce the day’s loot. Little Timmy would always say his pleases and thank yous (a pirate isn’t a common thug after all), and scurry up to his room. He enjoyed reading his new books under the covers, and posing at the foot of his bed with his favourite pirate hat, and an eye patch that his Nana gifted him after Grampa didn’t need it anymore. Sometimes, if he tried and closed his eyes hard enough, he can feel the cool sea breeze and smell the salty water spraying over the bow of his vessel. It was a magnificent feeling, and Little Timmy relished every trip to the high seas granted to him, like a true sailor. He even asked his father for a real live parrot, but not too big because his shoulders aren’t quite fully grown pirate material just yet.

His father smiled, and ruffled his hair with his big, gentle hands, “Wish upon a star kiddo, all pirates need their stars.”

So Little Timmy wished, and prayed, and huffed, and puffed. Sometimes after opening his eyes from a much needed wishing break, he’d spot a pigeon, or a crow flying past, and he’d take it as a sign that perhaps somewhere out in the big blue sky the stars were having a meeting on the best parrot to send Little Timmy.

“We must act! Our very selves as wish granting stars are at stake!” proclaimed Solar, the brightest of them all.

“Calm down Sol, first decide should the bird be green or yellow?” said Dwarf, lounging back in his nebula dust chair.

Solar’s younger, more fiery sister, Nova stood next, “I agree with Sol! What would humanity think of us next? Already they have begun wishing to the dead God hung on Roman death devices! DEAD, can you imagine brothers and sisters?”

Supergiant, the largest of them all , grunted.

Little Timmy imagined the council devolving into petty and tiny arguments, partly because he could not name any other stars, but also because that’s the way wishes worked in his world. You go to adults with a wish, an exhalation of your deepest wants or needs hushed in a single breath. And the next thing you know your mama walks out the door suitcase in hand saying she needed space. But Little Timmy wasn’t that big, not yet, so maybe he’s getting a little sister! He heard from Sandy Tommy in school that moms get really big when a new kid is on their way.

And so Little Timmy kept wishing, and praying, and huffing, and puffing, until the sky relented and like the Piglet’s straw house all the wishes of children everywhere came raining down on Brooklyn.

He remembered his father’s wise old words about getting what you want, “When you meet a locked door Timmy, that’s when you know the good stuff’s just on the other side.”

Little Timmy never really knew what his father did for a living. After work, his father loved watching the TV, putting it on in the background while he made dinner in their tiny apartment kitchen. And Little Timmy loved helping his father cook. All pirates have to learn to survive in case of a major shipwreck after all.

“That’s it Timmy, just a pinch of salt here. Now make it snow!” said his father gently while stirring the pot of bolognese.

He turned to grab a spoon to taste the simmering sauce, smirking when the news came on. Little Timmy’s father always had a satisfied look when the news came on, especially if the police were on it. Little Timmy supposed it was because his father was a policeman out catching bad guys all day, it would explain the navy blue jumpsuits, all his talk of “partners having each others backs” (like backpacks?), suspenseful car chases he had during the day, and the pride with which he described his work to Little Timmy.

Little Timmy wanted to be proud of his work too. And since that is, currently, being a pirate, he wanted to be the best pirate. And all pirates need buried loot. Which is why Little Timmy stored up all that his father gave him greedily, beyond the new books, the pirate hat, or the fake parrot. It was the moments. He was a boy, his father was a (slightly bigger) boy, and boys rarely ever said “I love you”. But they talked, about all the things a little boy would want to talk about, and there was rarely ever silence when Little Timmy’s dad was home. Sometimes the other children would stare while he was picked up by a different friend of his father’s everyday from school, to be returned to a silent home where meatloaf was chilling in the fridge, silent, but safe. But the moments made up for it. His father, after regaling him with the latest adventure, would ask about his day before producing the next new picture book. Little Timmy knew better than to lie if he misbehaved at school, his father had an uncanny ability to look at you until you spilled the beans (yet another reason to suspect him as a lawman).

“What should I do if you’re late some days papa?” Little Timmy piped up sometimes, but never while chewing (it won’t do to stain your face as a pirate).

His father laughed, confident and booming as always, “Well kiddo, if I’m late just get on your ship and sail away because it means you’ll have to come looking for me!”

“Why?”

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“Because, Timmy. It’ll mean the KRAKKEN HAS GOT ME MUUAARRGGHHHH!” said his father suddenly while lifting Little Timmy in his arms for a flyby around the living room.

And so Little Timmy never felt like his father was absent, because he was present. And so Little Timmy came home day after day to a silent home, silent, but safe because in a matter of hours (or two Transformers movies later), his father would return.

But a good pirate knows the tides change, sometimes we expect it to, but most times when we aren’t looking and have our faces buried in gold. One day, Little Timmy was alone for three Transformers movies. And so he huffed and puffed and wished and prayed, that his father and his crew were safe. Little Timmy knew nights are dangerous because of the stormy seas, when howling winds whisper ever so softly into your ear, taunting you over the bow of your vessel. Even pirates in battle would unload the heavy iron cannons and brace themselves below deck for a night when sea gods passed them over. But Little Timmy also knew, that stars hidden behind the storm clouds were still there. And so he huffed and puffed and wished and prayed.

The stars all huddled around the table, heads in their hands.

“Whatever are we going to do?” Sol moaned.

“I told you we should have gotten him a real parrot! At least then he can send a message out!” said Nova slamming her fist on their moon-desk.

Dwarf simply brushed aside the flying asteroids “Calm down, he will still be protected by his human laws, he is a child.”

“Since when have human laws held any love or care for a boy left all alone? Oh why did his father have to be so stupid? Surely even in their primitive state they would know better!” said Sol, still moaning more miserably now.

“You forget, brother, that humans have a greed born in no other life in the universe. They’re the only ones who think shifting wealth from one locked box to another has any value. Of course they were going to get caught. Our dear sister Fortuna has kept her wheel stationary long enough,” said Dwarf.

Nova stood up suddenly and turned to the door “Well I’m going to fix it! We’re getting the boy out of there!”

STAY AND WAIT FOR HIS WISH boomed Supergiant.

The other stars were stunned, no one had heard Supergiant speak in eons. The innate power of words, the power born of intent, tends to build up in silence.

Sol was the first to recover himself “Supergiant is right, we cannot do anything without his wish, or we would be no better than the dead Roman God or the old ones who came before us.”

And so the stars watched in silence, gazing down upon the blue earth as they themselves have been gazed upon, wishing and praying and huffing and puffing upon a child.

After a fifth Transformers movie (there were hardly any left), it began to rain. It started small, with a sound like the static on an old television when the antenna wasn’t on right that day. Then it began to pour, the pitter patter of raindrops bouncing off cars, windows, and the occasional bald head. Little Timmy began to feel the first pangs of fear. He huddled closer in his blanket, cold, hungry, and wondering where his ever present father had gone. He imagined it was like being marooned. When your crew lands in an island for a picnic, and after all the rum, the beach games, and the fresh coconuts, they all board the ship only for a typhoon to push it far away before you get to join them. You spend the first few hours resting, coming to terms with your new situation, wondering if there’s any more of that rum left. And then slowly, the sun begins to set, and the day turns dark. The creepy crawlies begin crawling. The wolves begin howling. The human begins to shiver. Little Timmy knew that, to be a true pirate, he would have to go out to sea one day. But he was hoping to learn to use his cutlass before then. Or to have a real parrot. Or to learn the names of more stars that will guide him on his journey. Little Timmy teared up thinking about stars, his father taught him the names of the first stars he knew. They were on the rooftop of their flat, his father made barbecue for the block that day, and after the grill embers died and the last guest went home, Little Timmy sat on his father’s shoulders and learned the names of the stars who watched over the world from afar. Where were the stars now? Where was his father now? Did the bad guys catch them sneaking about and are now hanging them above a shark tank like in the movies? Are they on a dangerous car chase, zipping through the city to catch up with a criminal in a sports car? They had a phone, an old, beat up looking thing, and though Little Timmy did not know the numbers to dial, his father did sometimes call through it to check up on him after school. Did he lose his cellphone? His father was always extremely careful with his cellphone, telling him that it cost a treasury fit for a king. Did something happen to make his father drop it? Where was his papa?

Little Timmy’s tears started to roll down his cheeks, and he furiously rubbed them. No, he would not cry today, not when the stars were still out there. And sure enough, like all children standing on the edge of cynicism the universe saw that his faith was rewarded at the last second. The red and blue lights and the sirens announced his father’s presence. Little Timmy thought it strange for a moment because he’d never seen his father drive his police car home. His father’s policemen friends entered the flat, took one look at him and passed over him to start clearing out his hidden stash of loot. Little Timmy wanted to protest but he wasn’t sure if he should. Maybe they’re just helping them move to a bigger home in the suburbs, somewhere Little Timmy can have a real parrot in. A young looking policeman knelt down to meet his eyes. Little Timmy liked that. He figured this must be the favourite of his father’s crew. The young man asked if he would like to go see his mother. Little Timmy nodded, bobbing up and down clutching his blanket, all gloom and tears forgotten. This was great news! The wait took a while but he was going to see both his father and his mother in one go! His little sister must be about 3 years old now, only 3 years younger than him but she’ll have a lot to catch up on if she wanted in on his pirate crew. Little Timmy missed his mother’s cookies, papa tried to make them but they always ended up too mushy. As the young policeman led Little Timmy out of the flat and they exchanged stories about mom’s cookies and dad’s spaghetti, Little Timmy knew the stars came through, and looked forward to a new day with no rocky seas or nasty twists and turns. He wondered why they were especially interested in moving his pirate stash out, along with his father’s loot tucked away in a big metal chest, but he supposed that even some adults liked pirates. His mother has yet to hear all about his new adventures and skills from his books and so he began listing them out for the attentive young officer’s opinions as they walked down the stairs. Tomorrow he’d have to ask his father for a new book, but for now, Little Timmy felt like the night’s terrors and anxieties are safely tucked away behind him in that old flat, and he was glad he had all his precious loot with him for the coming days.