Here comes the sun.

It had been five days since Henry had been offered a paid education at the Baltimore School of Fashion and Design, and he couldn't get it off of his mind. With each passing day, he had become more and more anxious to get out of Washington Heights. He'd had enough of the rain, enough of the dirt, enough of the creepy, sketchy happenings of the neighborhood. He wanted a job - a real job. Henry hadn't had a job since high school. When his grandmother died and left him a considerable sum of money, Henry hadn't needed a job - so he hadn't bothered to find one. He spent most of his time thinking about Dorothy. Besides, who would ever want a gay cross-dresser to work for him?

But now, Henry realized, he had a chance. He could be in charge of his own career, design clothes, and still keep Dorothy under wraps. So he'd sent in the application to the school, and now he was playing the waiting game.

Dawn had just broken over Washington Heights, and strangly, the sun was actually visible. In fact, there wasn't a cloud in the sky! Henry seized the opportunity to go out. He didn't know what he would do, or where he would go, but he was so nervous about his application that he hadn't been able to sleep, and he had to get moving.

So Henry walked down the eleven flights of stairs and out the front door of the building. He turned and walked down the street towards the bakery, eager for a fresh bagel and a cup of tea. In his blinding happiness, Henry hadn't noticed the flashing emergency lights on the other side of the building.

Henry walked into the bakery and waited behind a lady in a business suit, who was almost yelling her order. "One blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese. Pronto." She reeked of urine, but Henry was polite and didn't make a face. As the woman turned sharply, spinning on the heel of her pump (which made her about four inches taller than Henry), she looked down at Henry and gave him a cold stare. "What are you looking at?" Henry looked down as the woman brushed passed him. She was obviously in a bad mood - maybe because she smelled like pee.

Henry ordered his bagel and tea, sat down on a bench outside, and ate it slowly. When he finished, he strolled back towards Washington Heights.

Then he noticed the lights that he'd been oblivious to earlier. There were red lights, blue lights, white lights, spinning around and bouncing off the buildings. As he rounded the corner, he saw a group of people gathered by a big tree. Henry wasn't a nosey person, but he was curious, and approached the huddled group of people.

He didn't need to ask anybody what had happened, for what he saw and what he heard gave him a clear picture of what happened. "Poor soul..." "I can't believe he lived up there..." "He was just a boy..." "...he doesn't have parents..." The crowd murmured, looking at the ground under the tree.

On the ground was a little boy, no more than 10. He had been crushed by a tree branch. Henry could barely see anything, but he didn't want to see any more, so he walked away. He was in shock. Why, on a day so emotionally miserable, was the sun shining so brightly?

Henry walked back into the gloomy building of Washington Heights. He'd forgotten to get yesterday's mail - Dorothy had been too busy getting primped up to go out - so he headed towards the mailboxes. He sulkingly retrieved his mail and walked up the eleven flights to his apartment. It was only 8 a.m., but Henry felt tired. He couldn't stop thinking about the boy.

It wasn't until Henry threw the mail casually across the kitchen counter that he noticed it. The envelope flew out of some coupon book and came to a standstill facing him. It was addressed to Henry DuPont. It had an official red crest on it. When Henry looked closer, the crest read, "Baltimore School of Fashion and Design." And there, underneath the stamp on the bottom right corner of the envelope were the words, "Congratulations on your acceptance!"

It was a sunny day in Washington Heights. It was the first time something truly tragic had happened to someone in a long time. It was also the first time that, for Henry, something truly magical had happened. He was going to fashion school. He was going to Baltimore.

He was leaving Washington Heights.