When we're little, barely even babies anymore with little toes and fingers, we sing a song about stars. It goes, twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder--but it's kind of long. You know those, out there--filling up the galaxy. We look at them every night. It's different here than where you're from, but we still look up just the same. Necks arched, chins reaching, we absorb them. They're deceiving--the deadest things that look alive. 

A long time ago, after we'd fought and lost and fought and won and fought and lost more times than you can count, a man looked up at our flag. It's the symbol for this country, and places all over this world have them. They look different, but anyway, ours had stars on there. Stars, like in the galaxy. And that flag, after another long fight, inspired him to write an anthem. The Star Spangled Banner, it's called, and it's sung every day. It's about our independence, our drive and determination and the pursuit of liberty. It's all about independence. That's just one story, though. There are many others, for each country all over the world, and they all look different. All of us continue our fights. People often loose a lot for what they want to win. 

It starts young, this fighting. Way back in the beginning, when we've barely come into the world. We get up and stagger forward on fat little legs, and our mothers have to bite their lips and stand and watch. Wait. When we fall, we might cry a few drops, but eventually we do it again. And each time we move further from what we know. Then, when we're older, we dip our toes into new waters--that's an idiom, by the way; I can explain what that word means later--but anyway, we leave our families to learn, and then we have to try new scary things. As we grow older, we fight different fights, same as you. Some people fight for equality. They want everyone to be treated the same, with equal respect. Some fight for their countries, like I talked about earlier. You're probably fighting for yours. And some fight to get away from people who hurt them, and some fight to stay with people they love, and at the end of the day as our eyes grow tired and our hearts slow the stars come out, and they sparkle. The deadest things that look alive, remember? Some people make wishes on them. 

Independence is distance. It's the fact that you're here, thousands and thousands of miles from home. Maybe even millions. Independence is a fight. It's the fact that you've entered this world not knowing what to expect, but you're willing to take chances. Independence is the basis of every life, and it lives in us all. See? You're independent, but it's hard to explain; I hope I'm making sense. 

We worked really hard, for a very long time, for our independence. Not everybody here has it. There are people who still need help to fight the fight, and a lot of us want to give it to them. But we can't, if you do this. We can't if you take it away. Choose to be independent--return to your stars. And we'll go back to ours. 

“Shower caddy and soap—”

“Check.”

“Desk light, pillowcases, notebooks—”

“Got it.”

“Socks, glasses case, portable radio, my quote mugs—”

“All present.”

“Okay…” Harper Little released a flap on the last cardboard box and watched it settle into place. Looking up, she grinned at her mother.

“What?” Vivian Little rolled a felt-tip pen between her thumb and forefinger. Her blue manicure gleamed against her pale skin.

“A shining personality…an exceptional mind…”

Vivian laughed and twitched her pen over the pad of paper she was holding. “You forgot your riveting eyes.”

“Right.” Harper let out a huff and smoothed the frizz down both sides of her part. “I’m a ten, I think.”

“And so humble.” Her mother laid the completed checklist down and stood up, reeled Harper in with a palm around her wrist, kissed her cheek. A mauve pair of lips were imprinted.

“Mom.” She pivoted into her private bathroom, a perk she was going to miss in about three hours. With dampened toiled paper, she rolled over the mark. The tissue broke off in white freckles, and she blinked at herself. Vivian was right about one thing—her eyes were exceptional. Beaming blue and effervescent, they had been drawing attention since Harper was a toddler. Waitresses said she should be a diaper model; teachers gave her extra pats on her shoulders when they filed out for recess; girls either fawned over or hated her, and the boys shied away.

Vivian leaned into the doorway, and Harper offered a wan smile in the glass. Her mother had given her everything else, it seemed—a knobby-kneed frame, milk-white skin, thin lips—but not those eyes. They were from her father, a man she’d never seen or met or even talked about, really. It was just understood that Harper’s eyes weren’t Vivian’s flat brown, and that it was perhaps the only perk to coming from him at all.

Harper thought about asking his name, as she had several times over the years. Now that she was moving out and into the world, her mother might feel nostalgic enough to offer the syllables. Were they two, or three, or four? Did he and Harper share letters? Was it a kind name, or a cold one—something like Richard or Gregory?

She didn’t even care to know his last. It wasn’t like after eighteen years of no connection whatsoever that Harper wanted to strike up a relationship. Vivian—she was enough. And Harper’s stepfather, Todd, and her stepsister, affectionately called Kirby.

It was all good, their family. Harper just wanted to put a name to the eyes.

Vivian’s head was tilted to the side as she watched her daughter, though, and there was such a warmth to her face. Harper couldn’t stomach the threat of draining it away. She lifted the corners of her lips further, so that they were at their thinnest, and Vivian copied. Then she picked up her toothbrush and squeezed a peppermint line across the bristles. She could wait another eighteen years.

—

In the car, they played The Cure while Vivian reminisced about her days at the college. Harper had somehow ended up at the same prestigious university, a stone’s-throw of forty-five minutes away. She was glad she’d be close to her family; she wasn’t one of those souls who strove to make every change as dramatic and exaggerated as possible. Anyway, Harper had grown up hearing tales of this school, of its beautiful quad and the historic buildings and the lake it bordered. Vivian had swam there with her gaggle of girlfriends and tanned on the lawn, and now Harper would, too. First she’d have to find some girlfriends, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

She propped her head up against the glass and thought about her mother’s euphoria in the days that they’d filled out the application and scoured over Harper’s essay. She was sure she wasn’t going to get in, not with her grades and scant extracurriculars—choir, yearbook—but then the letter had come. Admitted with a full scholarship. Both Harper and Vivian had cried.

It was a dream come true for Harper and a dusty one for Vivian, as she’d dropped out after getting pregnant with Harper her sophomore year. Her mother never spoke about it much, but Harper knew it had to be difficult as all communication with her college friends dwindled, and then the people themselves trickled away as they jetted off to new worlds and lives. Vivian stayed behind and raised Harper, met and married Todd, moved to a cute three-bedroom on a corner lot. She went back to school online and finished her business degree, then got a job at an accounting office.

It was a boring life. Harper sometimes blamed herself for that, so it only felt right that when application time rolled around, this university was at the top of the list. She had to try, for her mother. And she’d been able to give that to her. It was the greatest moment of Harper’s existence.

“Momma—” Harper stilled called her that sometimes, when she was feeling fuzzy.

Vivian broke off mid-anecdote and appraised Harper. “Yeah?”

“Sorry, I—” Harper shook her head. “I guess I just wanted to say thanks.”

“Oh.” Vivian twisted the volume knob down. “For what?”

“My life…” Her laugh was sandpaper. “You sacrificed so much—”

“Harper…no.” A glance revealed Vivian’s eyes had taken on a sheen. “I never gave up anything. You’re the best…” She cleared her throat. “Don’t ever think you’re anything but the best thing that ever happened to me. That I ever did. The best. I think about my life before you and it was—” She sniffed as the tears spilled over, taking one hand off the wheel to dab at them. “Gray. Harper, it was gray.”

Harper’s own face glistened wet. “I’m going to work really hard, Momma. I’m going to graduate with honors and I’ll tell everyone it’s because of you.”

“Oh, honey.” Vivian moved her hand from her eyes to Harper’s knee. “I just want you to be happy. That’s all. And not flunk out—preferably.”

They both laughed, weak sounds, but better than tears. “Okay,” Harper said. “I will. Not. I mean, I will not.”

“Good. That’s all you need to promise.”

They were silent for a moment. The Cure wafted back through the speakers.

“You know,” Harper offered after a moment, pulling her legs against her chest, “there’s just one thing I want you to answer.”

“Okay…” The word ended in wariness. Harper drew a steadying breath.

“Did you love my dad? Ever?”

Vivian’s forehead folded up. “Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know.” And Harper didn’t. She just wanted to hear Vivian’s answer. Maybe love made it better somehow. Maybe it made her right. “Could you please just answer? This one thing? And then I won’t ask about him again.”

“That’s…fine. You can ask me anything.” Harper knew this wasn’t true. But she appreciated her mother’s efforts. It was unspoken that they didn’t speak of the man who’d impregnated Vivian, who’d continued his college career while she left and started over, while visions of the future detached like the puff of a dandelion and floated away in clouds.

“So,” Harper ventured, her voice a hovering thing. “Did you?”

Her mother bit down on her lower lip. “No, honey, I’m sorry. I did not.”

Their exit came up, along with a sign that advertised the college. Harper studied the name and its letters. Hers overlapped with three. Maybe that was as much of him as she was ever going to get.

—

The dorm was a little cold. Harper tried to adjust the thermostat but it didn’t seem to work, so she texted space heater to her mother and put on a sweatshirt. A beat later her phone dinged with a cheerful reply: On it, punctuated with a smiley face.

She flopped onto her petite twin bed and imagined Vivian’s arms around her like in their parting hug, two hours after arriving. She was mostly unpacked, the room being so small that she couldn’t bring much. She had her books and her music, though, so that was fine. She sat up and put on The Cure.

Later was an orientation dinner after an address from the Dean. Harper was dreading that, having to go out and socialize when she felt so down. She’d promised Vivian she’d make friends, and an almost-obligatory function seemed a good place to start. So she ran some mascara over her eyes, and then wiped it off. She didn’t want to draw attention to them tonight. She just wanted to…be.

For a moment Harper wished that Vivian had given her everything, that she didn’t gloat any visible parts of that terrible man—because every time Harper met her reflection, she was meeting him. And maybe her eyes were the worst part about her.

Harper found the cafeteria abuzz with the chatter of five-hundred excited freshmen. Harper joined the meal line and accepted various bland-colored foods with a mousy thank you. She plopped down in an empty seat at an empty half of a long table and forked bites into her mouth.

After a few minutes, a girl took the chair opposite hers. She offered Harper a smile, which shifted to a grin.

“Whoa—are you wearing contacts?”

Harper shook her head. “No…”

“Wow. Your eyes are gorgeous.”

“Thanks.”

“Really!” She beamed and stabbed a leaf of lettuce. “I’m Jones.”

“Harper.”

“Cute name. I go by my last. Technically my name’s Sharon but I hate it. So Jones.”

“Yeah…my last name is Little. So that wouldn’t work.”

Jones laughed. It was a trilling, happy sound. One that Harper could get used to. “That’s also cute, though. Harper Little. Your whole name is adorable.”

“Thanks.”

They talked a little more after that, exchanging hometowns and favorite movies and family details. Harper was just about to answer a favorite-band inquiry when the room suddenly resounded with microphone feedback. She straightened and turned her stare to a stage, where a grey-haired man was mounting the steps. He was hard to see from here, the lights glinting off his glasses, but he had a friendly smile.

“Good evening, class of twenty-twenty. And welcome to the best four years of your life!”

Students around the room set down their utensils to clap politely. He raised his own hands and joined them. When all was silent, he relaxed back on his leg. “My name is Charlie Hamberg. I’ve been fortunate to have thirty years here as Dean, and I’m sad to share that this will be my last.”

Boos went up around the room. He grinned.

“I know. I know. But I’m excited to meet you all. I’ll be coming around the tables here in a minute. But until then, I’d like to say a few things—”

Harper half-listened through the rest of his speech, which concluded to applause, focusing instead on finishing her food. She glanced up intermittently to follow his orbit around the tables. When he neared theirs, she quickly polished off the last bite.

“Hello!” Jones leapt to her feet to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you too, miss—”

“Jones. I’m Jones.”

Harper sighed inwardly as she wiped off her fingers, then rose. She readied her own hand. In profile, she could tell this man was older—late fifties or early sixties, probably. He and Jones talked for a few seconds, and then he focused on Harper.

“Hello, Miss—”

“Harper Little.” Their hands met, and her breath caught as her heart stuttered in her chest. She squeezed tight and felt like she was going to be sick. He didn’t say anything, just met her gaze with the faintest of smiles. Harper couldn’t force her face into anything. She was too riveted by a pair of eyes, beaming blue and effervescent—his eyes.

Entirely her own. 

Lines fan out in sunshine rays 

the din of waves 

from the TV screen 

the words we trade

in even rows 

and the ones we break 

when we're alone 

Groan the window shut 

Paint chips 

Rain confetti

Retreat 

Stew in

A cloak of drudgery 

Marinade of what-ifs 

Sheen of what-I-could've-saids 

Instead 

A head appears

Persistence, cheer

For this morose party 

Of one 

Drawing the ghost 

Of a glimmer 

From my eyes

Punishing hands

Always seem

To look like mine. 

When the long neck is tipped toward me 

Glass elegance 

A promise of conformity 

And acceptance 

I will say

No thank you 

It's not superiority 

I swear 

It's just that I have seen 

Secondhand 

The ripple effects of 

Too much to drink 

Dependency 

The consequence of 

Relying on 

A slurred high 

Until those long arms 

Reach out 

Pull down 

Everyone 

With you 

Unfailing 

Tear-streaked 

Every time