“Michael,” Carlton said, recognition dawning. Michael continued to draw. “Where … ?” Carlton looked around, but what he saw didn’t make sense to him. The pizzeria was brightly lit, yet Carlton couldn’t see more than five feet away, as though there was a blurry cloud masking everything beyond. He ducked his head out cautiously from under the table, but the bright lights hurt his eyes, and he shielded them with his hand, crawling back under. Michael had not moved; he was drawing steadily, his brow furrowed in concentration. Carlton studied the pictures on the ground with a vague sense that something was wrong. I don’t belong here, he thought, yet part of him felt completely at home.

“What are you doing?” he whispered to Michael, who looked up from his drawing at last.

“I have to put them back together,” Michael explained. “See?” He pointed out from the table, at the pizzeria around them. Carlton squinted into the blurry horizon, seeing nothing at first, then they began to appear: he saw pages and pages of colorful drawings, some on the walls, others blowing through the air. “They’re all in pieces,” Michael said. He shuffled the pages in front of him and found two that showed the same child, then he placed one on top of the other, and began to trace the lines. “These go together,” Michael said, holding up the picture: the two drawings had become one, the separate pages somehow bonded together; the lines were clearer and the colors more vibrant.

“What are you putting back together?” Carlton asked.

“My friends.” Michael pointed to a single picture propped up against the wall. It showed five children: three boys and two girls, standing together in a cheerful pose, with a yellow rabbit standing behind them.

“I know this picture,” Carlton said slowly. His mind was still foggy, and as he tried to grasp at the answer, it only slipped further away. “Who is that?” Carlton whispered, pointing to the rabbit.

“He’s our friend.” Michael smiled, not looking up from his work. “Can you go get more for me?” Carlton looked out into the pizzeria: the space he could see had expanded a little more, and now he could make out the blurs of other children who seemed to be grasping at pages as they flew by, trying to grab the drawings. Carlton got out from under the table and stood up, walking through the midst of the mirage and colors. A boy in a black-and-white-striped shirt came running up, chasing a piece of paper.

“What are you doing?” Carlton asked as the boy grabbed empty air, and the page flew away into the blurry distance.