“This Apollo has gone,” he said. His eyes were clear. I wished he had not healed so quickly. I dreamed of being with Raphael and Bruce Lee in an open field, practicing for a fight. When I woke up, my eyes refused to open. I pried my lids apart. My eyes burned and itched. Each time I blinked, they seemed to produce more pale ugly fluid that coated my lashes. It felt as if heated grains of sand were under my eyelids. I feared that something inside me was thawing that was not supposed to thaw. My mother shouted at Raphael, “Why did you bring this thing to my house? Why?” It was as though by catching Apollo he had conspired to infect her son. Raphael did not respond. He never did when she shouted at him. She was standing at the top of the stairs, and Raphael was below her. “How did he manage to give you Apollo from his room?” my father asked me. “It wasn’t Raphael. I think I got it from somebody in my class,” I told my parents” (p. 6) This supports the idea that happiness unveils the little details because up until that point Okenwa had never noticed those things about Raphael before. He probably noticed more things that most people would notice about him knowing him a long