Another car swept into the lot, a brown Mitsubishi this time, its wiper blades furiously swinging, and Silver's back straightened slightly from its slump, his head lifting. The car slowed as it neared him and his spine lengthened a little more. His lips parted and his breath and heartbeat accelerated. It pulled into a parking spot and he – oh so casually – leaned to a new angle, one where he could see in through its passenger-side window.

Inside the car were two young women, younger than Silver, still in their teens.

His body collapsed once more, huddling under the scant overhang and he stared at the screen of his phone, fighting back tears. They had agreed on this meeting eleven years ago. Of course Devon wouldn't be here. They had been kids; what had he been thinking, showing up like this?

Silver pressed down on his feet, raising himself an inch before his ankles buckled, his legs unwilling to hold his weight. He stared down at the wet concrete, at a crack between his blue sneakers, at the plant growing out, its red splayed stems flattened against the cement, plump green leaves proudly unfurled.

"Purslane," he whispered. Devon had taught him that. Silver raised his head again, his eyes still on the ground, scanning for other plants. He spotted a dandelion, and his lips curved involuntarily. His eyes remained on the weed, whose flower was still encased in its vegetal shell, yellow petals just visible at the top, but the plant he saw in his mind was in full bloom.

"And you can eat the whole plant!" Devon's voice was as sunny as the day itself, as bright as his orange hair, as he lectured Silver on the merits of the oft-maligned dandelion. "My mom says you get different health benefits from each part – the root, the leaves, and the flower."

"Well, my mom says they're ugly and they bring down the property values. She says she's going to call the city and make your mom spray them," Silver had retorted.

"They can't make her!"

Silver had shrugged. It had seemed unimportant to his nine-year-old mind. Devon and Silver's moms had butted heads ever since he could remember, and no one ever won, and life would just go on, unchanging, forever, right?

The very next day, he had gone back over to the untidy house where Devon lived with his mother, three cats, and a dog, with two goats and four chickens in the back yard – how his father had hated those chickens! Silver always went to Devon's after school, to do homework together and listen to Devon's mom tell stories and to look at all the interesting objects in their living room – crystal balls and strange clay dolls and bottles of fragrant powders.

But everything in the living room had been replaced by cardboard boxes, the sides marked with words Silver didn't know, in the language of wherever Devon's mom had come from. He had wandered through the house, finding Devon's mom sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea, surrounded by more boxes. Her face had been calm as she watched Silver standing in the doorway.

After a moment, he had gathered up his courage, managing a bewildered, "What's going on?"

She had responded in her heavy accent. "We are going away, Sylvester." She always called him by his full first name; no one else ever did, and he sometimes wondered how she knew what it was.

"But where? Why?"

Her lips twisted sardonically. "I have done what I came here to do. We must move on."

"When will you be back?"

Devon's mom had stood up, towering over the small boy. "Devon is in his room. Say your goodbyes."

On her way out the back door, she had turned back. "You have been a good friend to Devon. Mayhap you will see him again. In time." And she was gone.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Silver had crept toward Devon's room, stubbing his toe on boxes as he maneuvered through formerly-familiar rooms turned into a strange labyrinth. The door was open, and Silver felt small, standing stiffly in the entryway, watching his friend putting belongings into boxes, tears streaming.

Silver cleared his throat and Devon's head snapped up, his deep blue eyes wide. He scrubbed at his face, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "We're leaving. Today. Mom says we're not coming back."

"She told me we might see each other again," Silver offered, awkwardly.

Devon's face lit up. "Really?"

"In time, she said."

"She wouldn't say that if it wasn't true."

"I mean, she couldn't know, though, could she?" Silver walked into the room and knelt beside the open box. He picked up an action figure, automatically twisting its limbs, turning the robot into a car.

"Believe me, she knows," Devon's eyes shone, his tears gone. "Tell you what, let's make a plan."

"A plan?"

"Yeah. We'll meet eleven years from today. Eleven is an auspicious number, you know." Devon often spoke like that – using words well beyond the vocabulary of his peers.

"Where?"

"Right here! Outside this house."

"What if the house isn't here then?"

"At this address, then! Whatever is here. This is where we'll meet." Devon glanced at his watch. "It's 3:30 right now. So we'll meet at 3:30 on May 13, in eleven years."

Silver had smiled. "Okay. 3:30."

Then he had helped pack until he had to go home for dinner at 5:30, and Devon and his mom had moved the next day, and Silver's new best friend had been Jimmy Tater. A year or so later, his parents had been offered a large amount of money by a developer who wanted to turn the neighborhood into a shopping center, a series of buildings around a parking lot. They had taken the money and so had all of their neighbors, and they had moved, en masse, to a new neighborhood just on the other side of the highway.

The neighborhood had been razed, except for one old, beautiful ash tree that had stood in Devon's yard. That tree had been saved, thanks to petitions and protests by ecologists and citizens from all over the state. It remained in place, rising into the gloom, mid-parking-lot, just a few feet from Silver's bench, its roots delving deep below the pavement.

Where Silver's house had been, a Mexican restaurant moved in, and Silver had had his first kiss there, when he was twelve, courtesy of Meredith Pitt, after buying her a chicken burrito with his allowance. Devon's house had been replaced with a burger joint, which had been a hot hangout for Silver and Jimmy and all of their friends in their teen years. It had gone out of business last year, becoming the coffee shop that had put out the bench on which Silver was currently slouched, at 4:07, on the day he and Devon had agreed to meet, all those years ago.

Shaking his head, Silver stood and zipped his reflective yellow rain shell up to his chin, flipped the hood over his shaggy brown hair. Obviously, Devon's mother had been wrong – Devon had forgotten all about his childhood friend, had probably moved to the city and become some kind of big shot. No doubt he laughed to think of the early years, slumming it in this podunk town.Silver pulled his keys out of his pocket as he walked toward his bicycle, finding the cylindrical bike lock key by feel, his mind lost in thought. The sound of a revving car behind him intruded on his brooding, and he glanced back to see who was speeding through the lot. He gasped as he realized the black sedan was heading straight toward him. He stood frozen, willing his feet to move, but they were rooted in place, and he cursed as it jumped the curb. Frantic, he flailed his arm, wildly throwing his keys at the windshield. They gouged a deep divot on the passenger side.

At the last minute, the driver spun his wheel, narrowly missing Silver. His feet were still fixed in place, and he struggled to move them, contorting his legs and torso as the passenger door opened and a slim young woman with short purple hair ran toward him. Without a word, she grabbed his hand and tugged at it, dragging his arm and body horizontal, while his feet remained firmly anchored to the ground.

She cursed and turned back toward the car, yelling in a language Silver didn't recognize.

Silver lurched forward as his feet were released, and she caught him as he stumbled, guiding him toward her side of the car and shoving him into her vacated seat before pulling open the back door and jumping in herself.

Automatically, Silver grabbed the handle and heaved the door shut. The driver took off immediately, and Silver turned to look at him.

It was Devon. But not his Devon.

It wasn't just that he had grown up; of course people change. But Devon no longer looked like people. Devon looked like . . . a creature. Maybe he was wearing a costume? A really convincing and detailed costume.

Devon's skin was deep blue and his ginger head was topped with horns of the same color. The back of his seat had been removed to make room for his enormous blue wings. His face had the same features, although older, and his hair remained that same vibrant orange.

You'd think that combination would look ridiculous, but Devon looked dignified. Like it wasn't a costume or a deformity, but the way he was meant to look. Come to think of it, Devon had been an awkward-looking child. Maybe because he'd been hiding his true self.