Jackie sees a star

By Marion Zimmer Bradley
Jackie's star was his own secret discovery at first. But then—even Dr. Milliken became excited.
Marion Zimmer Bradley is a New Englander by speech, habits and tradition. Transplanted to Texas four years ago, she complains that she never has enough room to roam in the sand flats surrounding her dwelling. Could it be that, like Jackie, she much prefers the vast sweep of the Galactic universe—and a splendor which makes even Texas seem spatially minute?
So you want to hear about the Edwards child? Oh, no, you don't get by with that one! You can just put on your hat again, and walk right back down those stairs, Mister. We've had too many psychologists and debunkers around here, and we don't want any more.
Oh —you're from the University? Excuse me, professor. I'm sorry. But if you knew what we've put up with, from reporters, and all kinds of crackpots ... and it isn't good for Jackie, either. He's getting awfully spoiled. If you knew how many paddlings I've had to give that kid in just this past week.
His mother? Me? Oh, no! No, I'm just Jackie's aunt. His mother, my sister Beth, works at the Tax Bureau. Jackie's father died when he was only a week old. You know ... he'd been in the Big Bombings in '64, and he never really got over it. It was pretty awful.
Anyhow, I look after Jackie while my sister works. He's a good little kid—spoiled, but what kid isn't, these days?
It was I who heard it first, as a matter of fact. You see, I'm around Jackie a lot more than his mother is.
I was making Jackie's bed one morning when he came up behind me, and grabbed me round the waist, and asked, real serious, Aunt Dorothy, are the stars really other suns like this one, and do they have planets too?
I said, Why, sure, Jackie. I thought you knew that.
He gave me a hug. Thanks, Aunt Dorothy. I thought Mig was kidding me.
Who's Mig? I asked. I knew most of the kids on the block, you see, but there was a new little girl on the corner. I asked, Is she the little Jackson girl?