Eleanor Henderson

Dark Star: Epistemology

They lay in their sleeping bags under an open sky, hoping to see a meteor. For hours they talked aimlessly, or dozed.

“Was there a worm?”

“I don’t know.”

There was a long pause.

“But if there was half a worm, wasn’t there another half?”

“I guess.”

“You saw half a worm.”

“I guess.”

Ariana could hear his shrug in the dark.

“Well, what did you see if it wasn’t half a worm?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

“Something that looked like half a worm.”

Maybe.

They had been having this conversation since Mike was eight and Ariana was five. Sometimes they switched sides, but usually it was Ariana who was convinced that there had been a worm. She remembered that she had felt a funny wiggle as she swallowed her cereal. Usually. They always agreed that Ariana had asked her question, and had pointed to something on the table. But Ursula had come along just then and wiped the table. They had both gone to the trash can and managed to get the lid off to settle the argument. But Ursula came along and hustled them into their backpacks and off to school. She, Ursula, had promised to look in the trash. She had pinky-promised. But she didn’t look. She just looked annoyed when Ariana had asked her about the worm. So whenever Ursula annoyed or disappointed her, Ariana asked about the worm.

When Mike had turned 13 he had become very touchy for awhile. Ariana was not allowed to say “I love you.” She was allowed to say “Mikey,” which sort of meant “I love you.”

She said, “Mikey.” He responded, “Ariana, I love you.”

Ariana heard Mike turn over and settle himself on his side. She lay on her back and asked the Moon: Was there a worm?

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