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“What’s wrong, Sam?”
Sam looked up as Al appeared by his—or rather Billie Jean’s—bedside. He wore an oversized tee and nothing else, his hair sweaty at the temples. He’d been trying to sleep for over an hour now with no success.
“Al . . . I can’t get comfortable! I just want to sleep, I’m so exhausted . . .” Al watched in sympathy, then surprise, as tears came to Sam’s eyes.
“Aw Sam, jeez, c’mon, don’t cry.” He adjusted the handlink until it appeared as if he was sitting on the edge of the narrow bed.
“I can’t help it,” Sam wiped his eyes with one hand. “I’m so hot and this bed is too small and—and I just want to go home!” Sam burst into fresh tears and Al wanted nothing more to smooth his friend’s hair from his forehead until he dropped off, but of course, he couldn’t. He glanced up and out the bedside window, where stars gleamed down, the rural Oklahoma setting making them appear almost incandescent.
“Sam, hey, look at this. Turn over,” Al said and gestured to the stars. “Look how bright the stars are, pal. They look real nice.”
Sam squirmed over onto his side and gazed up out the small window. An errant tear tracked its way down his cheek and a sudden inspiration struck Al. He scooted closer and began to sing in a low, soothing tone:
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.”
Al repeated the lullaby several times, and by the time he finished the third chorus, Sam’s tears had stopped and his breathing dropped into a deep, even cadence as he drifted off to sleep. The Observer reached out, as if to touch Sam’s hair, then leaned over to brush his lips over Sam’s forehead in a ghostly kiss.
“Sweet dreams, Sam.”
FIN