I asked him what he liked to do for fun and he told me, “Starfish,” with a grin. I imagined him lying sprawled out with arms and legs spread star-like. He grew even more enthusiastic when he saw the look of confusion on my face and asked me to join him. He looked so excited and juvenile and I couldn’t say no.

The next night, I met him in his backyard. The sky was full of bright, blazing specs, like someone had flicked white shimmer paint onto a black canvas. He stood with a fishing pole in hand and a smile from ear to ear.

“What’s that for,” I asked.

“Tonight,” he said, “we’re fishing for stars.”

I stared skeptically at him, holding back a laugh. He brought the pole behind him and with a flick and a click, he cast it up into the sky. It soared past the trees and into the darkness above. My jaw dropped as his lifted in a cackle. After a moment, the line jerked and he turned very serious.

Thrusting the pole into my hands, he shouted, “We’ve got one!”

Startled, I began reeling, winding the handle as fast as could. There was resistance on the other end and I yanked the pole back. He wrapped his hands around mine and we pulled with all our might. I could see it then, the falling star, hurdling towards us. It was the most wonderful thing I’d ever seen.

We fell to the ground as the star gave in, leaving its reluctance behind. It hung there, at the end of the pole, glowing and beautiful. He climbed to his feet and carefully unhooked the ball of light. Then he pulled out a mason jar and slipped it inside. He held it out for me, his face delighted in its glow. I grasped it and it warmed my shaking hands. I looked up at him and he smiled, a wild look in his eyes.

“Let’s try for the moon,” he said.