The kids in my neighborhood put on a play, Tom Thumb’s Wedding. What Tom Thumb has to do with it I never discern, since what the play actually consists of is a mock marriage ceremony, organized by Pam, who lives across the street. Pam is a chunky, breezy blond who gets things done; she organizes a surprisingly large number of children to take part in the pageant, which will take place in her garage. I am pleased that she has invited me to perform the role of the Preacher, who is the only person in the piece with anything to say; I read the ceremonial lines pasted into a Bible while everyone else has merely to march in and look solemn. Pam herself takes the role of the Bride, of course, and strides in, pink cheeked and zaftig in her white dress, while very tiny children walk in front of her scattering petals. Every kid for blocks is part of the array, except Yolanda and Yohanna—not invited, or have they, by now, moved away? Everyone comes and goes, children of space. Although there is only one rehearsal, the performance is a huge success, attended by enthusiastic parents, and I am so inspired that I conceive a plan for a show of my own.

My friend Werner will assist. He is a sweet and unassuming boy whom I like because he’s nice and because he will do anything I say. He has curly dark hair and beautiful olive skin; his father is a German scientist, his mother from Mexico. His skin color must make him a bit of an outsider in Titusville, and maybe that’s another reason we’re friends. For months we’ve been exploring and colonizing an island we’ve discovered, in a raw place where the palmetto scrub’s been bulldozed for a new subdivision. The raw, mounded earth is pinkish-orange, with big exposed chunks of a soft compacted stuff called coquina, a sort of layer cake of old shells. The builders have gouged out a hole which is filled with water of a particularly toxic-looking shade, a poisonous mixture of aqua and pistachio; in the center of this diminutive lagoon is an island. I say, “Werner, let’s build a bridge,” and he says, “Okay.” Then I say, “Werner, this island is a new continent,” and he says, “Yeah.”