Ship of Souls

different. Everyone leaves me behind—everyone!”
    You are my host, D. Through you, a part of me can continue to live in this world.
    A sob slips from my throat. “I don’t have anyone to go back to.”
    You have two loyal friends. And your foster mother is missing you now—she cares about you, D.
    “No she doesn’t! Mrs. Martin only cares about Perfect-me. She doesn’t even know who I am.”
    You haven’t given her a chance. I knew you were special because you opened your heart to me. If you are honest with others, they too will see your worth.
    Billy holds me close and whispers, “Farewell, friend.”
    I turn to the sun. The sun turns to me.
    It is time, D. I must return to my realm. And you must return to yours.
    “Please…don’t leave me. Don’t go!” I cry helplessly.
    Hold fast to my love, D. Let it be the light that guides you home.
    Another cloud passes in front of the sun. I search the ship deck but can no longer see myself there among the dead. Then there is total darkness as the rolling waves embrace me and pull me back to shore.

15.
    I wake to the sound of water splashing below. Under my hands I feel the cold metal of the railing on Lullwater Bridge. I stare down into the lake and in its depths see a small ship trailing a brilliant star. “Good-bye, Nuru,” I whisper.
    I am not gone, D , she answers. You will find me when you look within.
    I smile and gaze at the sinking star until it disappears from sight. Then I look up and see Nyla and Keem holding hands by the boathouse. I cross the bridge and join my friends on the far side of the lake.
    “Missed me, huh?”
    I roll my eyes at Keem but can’t keep myself from grinning.
    Nyla drops his hand and pulls me into her arms. “Welcome back, freak,” she whispers in my ear.
    My hand automatically reaches for the sharp pin inside my coat pocket, but then I realize that I don’t need to draw blood to truly feel what’s in my heart. I hold onto Nyla instead and bury my face in her neck as hot tears spill from my eyes.
    I feel Keem’s big hand resting gently on the back of my head. “We got you, D,” he says quietly. “We got you.”
     
    THE END

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
    I ’m blessed to have many friends who believe in magic, and as many family members who believe in miracles.
    I thank my friend, Gabrielle, who listened to my summary of the story in its early stages and insisted that I let D live. Stefanie helped me work out the plot as we jogged around Prospect Park; Kate read the earliest draft and assured me that the story was complex and compelling. My writer friends on Facebook cheered each time I posted my word count over the holidays. Belonging to a community of artists is invaluable, and I thank all those who respect my need for solitude and welcome me back when the writing’s done—especially Rosa, who calls even when she knows I won’t pick up. I thank my book blogger friends for keeping me in the loop and for being steadfast supporters of my work.
    Marvin Broome and Annemarie Shrouder taught me how to curse in German; my student, Naa Addico, enlisted her grandmother’s assistance when I needed help with West African languages. I appreciate their help, but I am responsible for any translation errors.
    The park rangers at the African Burial Ground National Monument are phenomenal—informed, impassioned, and always willing to help. I thank Lead Park Ranger Douglas Massenburg for introducing me to Dr. Muhammad Hatim of the Imams Council of New York. Dr. Muhammad and Umar Al-Uqdah taught me about their faith, and I’m extremely grateful for their generosity.
    Prospect Park is a vast wonderland in the heart of Brooklyn. I have wandered its paths since first moving to the city in 1994, and the park continues to soothe and inspire me. I thank the Prospect Park Alliance for preserving its beauty and history.
    I want to thank my agent, Faith Childs, who read the manuscript and responded with enthusiasm and encouragement. I also thank her for persisting in an industry where doors and minds are so often closed to writers like me.
    Lastly I thank the AmazonEncore team for keeping their door open.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
    B orn in Canada, Zetta Elliott moved to Brooklyn in 1994 to pursue her PhD in American studies at New York University. Her poetry and essays have been published in several anthologies, and her plays have been staged in New York, Chicago, and Cleveland. She wrote the award-winning picture book Bird and the young adult novel A