Chapter 5:
Life is not so dark
I sit by the boy, and look at his doodles. They are a rush of color. Mostly, they are orange, but there is a splash of green, and dots of blue among them. I hum, and the boy looks up at me.
“Hello,” he shyly says.
“Hello, there. I am your babysitter for the hour,” I lie. The boy scrunches up his nose at me.
“I am too old for babysitters,” he retorts.
“Well, I am too young to be told no,” I poke out my tongue, and he giggles. “What are you drawing?”
“What I am feeling,” he goes back to doodling, but I see that he is reaching out for the blue pencil again.
“How about you use some yellow?” I suggest. Trying to get to the bottom of his emotions. Most Naga can tell what they are feeling, even without needing to bottle it up.
“Why yellow?” He pauses, his fingers hovering over the blue pencil.
“Well, yellow is for happiness, that you can’t have,” I tell him, trying to explain the bittersweet feeling in the simplest terms.
“I can have happiness,” the boy picks up the blue pencil, and draws a moon.
“Why is the moon blue?” I ask. Most planets have moons. Ursula 590 has five. None of them shine blue at night. That is not to say there are no moons that shine blue in the Cosmos, but Ursula 585 to Ursula 589 are similar to Earth’s moon.
“Because it is alone,” the boy says, and I nod. Ah, so that is the problem. The little guy is dealing with loneliness.
“Who has the moon lost?” I ask him. He bites his lower lip, before answering.
“His father,” the boy says, and then slams the blue pencil on the coffee table. “Even though the moon’s father promised to come back.”
“Ah, I see,” I place a hand over the boy’s shoulder. Abandonment, or death? It doesn’t matter. I will find out.
“Do you know what I’d do, if I was in the moon’s shoes?” I ask. The boy snorts.
“Moons don’t have shoes, silly. They don’t have feet,” he tells me, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. I don’t argue with him. I know he doesn’t want to speak further on the subject.
“This moon can have feet, and shoes. You can draw them for it. With the orange pencil, and draw red bubbles on them,” I pick up the orange pencil, and hand it over.
“Craters,” the boy says. I blink.
“Excuse me?” I sit there, holding up the pencil, not moving an inch.
“Moons have craters, not bubbles, silly. Are you sure you are an adult?” The boy asks, and I place a finger on my chin. I tap it a couple of times, and shrug theatrically.
“You know, I don’t know. I am certainly old enough to be an adult, but the whole adulting thing is something I haven’t quite figured out for myself,” I poke out my tongue then, and the boy giggles.
“Noah,” he says, offering his hand.
“Tine,” I shake his hand gently, and then guide it into a pinky swear.
“What is the swear for, Tine?” Noah asks.
“It is so that we can end up friends. Most pinky swears are done in silence,” I tell him. He blinks at me.
“You are weird,” the boy says.
“I know,” I tell him with a wink, that brings another giggle out of him.
“Do you know what? You are not my only client for the day,” I tell him, and he folds his arms over his chest.
“You are not a babysitter at all, are you?” He accuses, and I am quick to defend myself.
“I am a volunteer babysitter,” I say, and then move closer to him, so I can whisper in his ear. “And a bottler of happiness.”
He sighs.
“I don’t want any orange bottles,” the boy’s voice is tired now.
“I know,” I say, as I move away from him. “I am here to talk you into bottling your happiness and sharing it with others.”
“I am unhappy,” Noah says, as if I am a silly man, that should have known better than to suggest what I suggested.
“I know,” I say again. Even if the poster didn’t make it clear that the kid needed a potion, I would have gotten the drift by seeing him draw a blue moon with a frowny face. “But, do you know what? I can teach you my techniques for a happy life. It all starts with the color orange.”
“Doesn’t it all end with the color orange?” He protests.
“That too,” I agree. “Still, there are so many things that you can do, while the emotion solvent soaks up your emotions. Do you want to know what I do?”
He looks at me for a while, and then nods. That is a good sign. It means that he is not too lost in his sorrow.
“I speak with humans,” I blurt out.
“You do human baiting?” He asks me, eyes wide. I can’t resist, I just have to poke his nose. His eyes narrow, when I do so, and he swats me with his tail. “Don’t touch my nose!”
“Sorry,” I say, and ruffle his hair. He swats at my arm.
“I am not a kid,” he protests.
“We are all kids, no matter our age,” I tell him, as I begin to poke him on the cheeks. “Some of us are more childish than others.”
“You are the most childish babysitter of them all!” He exclaims, and I grin at him, baring my teeth. “Silly head.”
“Happy silly head,” I correct him, and then trust the orange pencil in his hands. “Come on, draw the moon's legs and shoes. Oh, and a top hat, and a nice stick for its right hand. I suppose, you’d need to draw it hands as well?”
“But, then, I will have to fix the frowny face too,” Noah says, as he begins to draw the legs of the moon.
“You don’t need to fix it today. Fix it when you feel the Muse for fixing it. Take small steps. Make the moon into a silly moon,” I say, and watch as the boy begins to work. Noah has the talent for Deep Work. The outside world doesn’t register to him. But his smile...it makes me feel warm inside.
Maybe it is time that I got myself a kid? I am good with them, if I can say so myself. Personally, I can’t have any, but perhaps I should adopt? Find someone to share my life with, and make an orphan happy? I should speak with Daniel about it. He might have an advice for me.
Chapter 5:
Life is not so dark
I sit by the boy, and look at his doodles. They are a rush of color. Mostly, they are orange, but there is a splash of green, and dots of blue among them. I hum, and the boy looks up at me.
“Hello,” he shyly says.
“Hello, there. I am your babysitter for the hour,” I lie. The boy scrunches up his nose at me.
“I am too old for babysitters,” he retorts.
“Well, I am too young to be told no,” I poke out my tongue, and he giggles. “What are you drawing?”
“What I am feeling,” he goes back to doodling, but I see that he is reaching out for the blue pencil again.
“How about you use some yellow?” I suggest. Trying to get to the bottom of his emotions. Most Naga can tell what they are feeling, even without needing to bottle it up.
“Why yellow?” He pauses, his fingers hovering over the blue pencil.
“Well, yellow is for happiness, that you can’t have,” I tell him, trying to explain the bittersweet feeling in the simplest terms.
“I can have happiness,” the boy picks up the blue pencil, and draws a moon.
“Why is the moon blue?” I ask. Most planets have moons. Ursula 590 has five. None of them shine blue at night. That is not to say there are no moons that shine blue in the Cosmos, but Ursula 585 to Ursula 589 are similar to Earth’s moon.
“Because it is alone,” the boy says, and I nod. Ah, so that is the problem. The little guy is dealing with loneliness.
“Who has the moon lost?” I ask him. He bites his lower lip, before answering.
“His father,” the boy says, and then slams the blue pencil on the coffee table. “Even though the moon’s father promised to come back.”
“Ah, I see,” I place a hand over the boy’s shoulder. Abandonment, or death? It doesn’t matter. I will find out.
“Do you know what I’d do, if I was in the moon’s shoes?” I ask. The boy snorts.
“Moons don’t have shoes, silly. They don’t have feet,” he tells me, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. I don’t argue with him. I know he doesn’t want to speak further on the subject.
“This moon can have feet, and shoes. You can draw them for it. With the orange pencil, and draw red bubbles on them,” I pick up the orange pencil, and hand it over.
“Craters,” the boy says. I blink.
“Excuse me?” I sit there, holding up the pencil, not moving an inch.
“Moons have craters, not bubbles, silly. Are you sure you are an adult?” The boy asks, and I place a finger on my chin. I tap it a couple of times, and shrug theatrically.
“You know, I don’t know. I am certainly old enough to be an adult, but the whole adulting thing is something I haven’t quite figured out for myself,” I poke out my tongue then, and the boy giggles.
“Noah,” he says, offering his hand.
“Tine,” I shake his hand gently, and then guide it into a pinky swear.
“What is the swear for, Tine?” Noah asks.
“It is so that we can end up friends. Most pinky swears are done in silence,” I tell him. He blinks at me.
“You are weird,” the boy says.
“I know,” I tell him with a wink, that brings another giggle out of him.
“Do you know what? You are not my only client for the day,” I tell him, and he folds his arms over his chest.
“You are not a babysitter at all, are you?” He accuses, and I am quick to defend myself.
“I am a volunteer babysitter,” I say, and then move closer to him, so I can whisper in his ear. “And a bottler of happiness.”
He sighs.
“I don’t want any orange bottles,” the boy’s voice is tired now.
“I know,” I say, as I move away from him. “I am here to talk you into bottling your happiness and sharing it with others.”
“I am unhappy,” Noah says, as if I am a silly man, that should have known better than to suggest what I suggested.
“I know,” I say again. Even if the poster didn’t make it clear that the kid needed a potion, I would have gotten the drift by seeing him draw a blue moon with a frowny face. “But, do you know what? I can teach you my techniques for a happy life. It all starts with the color orange.”
“Doesn’t it all end with the color orange?” He protests.
“That too,” I agree. “Still, there are so many things that you can do, while the emotion solvent soaks up your emotions. Do you want to know what I do?”
He looks at me for a while, and then nods. That is a good sign. It means that he is not too lost in his sorrow.
“I speak with humans,” I blurt out.
“You do human baiting?” He asks me, eyes wide. I can’t resist, I just have to poke his nose. His eyes narrow, when I do so, and he swats me with his tail. “Don’t touch my nose!”
“Sorry,” I say, and ruffle his hair. He swats at my arm.
“I am not a kid,” he protests.
“We are all kids, no matter our age,” I tell him, as I begin to poke him on the cheeks. “Some of us are more childish than others.”
“You are the most childish babysitter of them all!” He exclaims, and I grin at him, baring my teeth. “Silly head.”
“Happy silly head,” I correct him, and then trust the orange pencil in his hands. “Come on, draw the moon's legs and shoes. Oh, and a top hat, and a nice stick for its right hand. I suppose, you’d need to draw it hands as well?”
“But, then, I will have to fix the frowny face too,” Noah says, as he begins to draw the legs of the moon.
“You don’t need to fix it today. Fix it when you feel the Muse for fixing it. Take small steps. Make the moon into a silly moon,” I say, and watch as the boy begins to work. Noah has the talent for Deep Work. The outside world doesn’t register to him. But his smile...it makes me feel warm inside.
Maybe it is time that I got myself a kid? I am good with them, if I can say so myself. Personally, I can’t have any, but perhaps I should adopt? Find someone to share my life with, and make an orphan happy? I should speak with Daniel about it. He might have an advice for me.
