Chapter 6:
It is not lost
The moon now has orange legs, arms, hands with red gloves, a top hat, a walking stick that it is in the process of twirling around, and a yellow twinkle in its formally empty eyes. I pat Noah on the shoulders, and I stand to leave.
“Wait,” he says, as he folds his drawing in half, and holds it out to me. “Keep this safe. For when I feel like fixing the frown?”
I take the drawing, and place it in the inside pocket of my jacket.
“Same time, tomorrow?” I ask, and Noah looks ready to begin swinging in place.
“I’d like to bottle some happiness tomorrow,” he says.
“And why is that?” I ask him. I want him to voice his need. That is the first step, to getting the thing you want.
“Because, I want to send it to my father. So, he can remember me,” he tells me. I bend so that I am at eye level with him.
“You will send him your truest emotion, I have no doubt of that,” I tell him. Then, I smile. “Chances are, he will become so warmed up by your emotions, that he will come back as soon as he feels them.”
“You think so?” He asks, practically vibrating. I look at him from head to tail, and nod. It is the most serious nod that I have ever given. Full of promise, and honesty. “Pinky swear?”
I chuckle, and hold out my pinky. We do the swear, and I place him back on the couch.
“Lesson number one for happiness bottling: Gather positive emotions beforehand. Now, I leave you with a homework. Draw the silliest drawings that you can imagine. Tomorrow, when I come back, you will explain them to me,” I tell him, and he grabs a clean sheet of paper. I notice that he reaches out for the orange pencil, and I smile at that.
I leave him to his drawing, and go in search of his mother. The lady of the house is in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on some sandwiches.
“How is he?” I can sense her hope, her worry, her fears. It all threatens to choke her, that much I know.
“I left him drawing a picture with an orange pencil. I couldn’t take a good look, but I think he was drawing a squirrel,” I say with a smile.
“Did he smile?” She asks me. “At least once?”
“More than once. Can you tell me the story behind his missing father?” I ask, and make my way to the table. “If you don’t feel that I am prying into too personal a matter, that is.”
“Oh, that is quite ok. Hugo didn’t want to leave. It is just that, he couldn’t find work in Mirstone, so, he went to Wendel to work as an electrician,” I nod my understanding. Mirstone is a quiet retirement community. There is not even an industrial district in the town. I can see why someone will go and work in Wendel. It is the capital city of Ashfeld province, after all.
“For how long has he been off to work?” I ask, as I look her in the eyes. She sighs, and stops her work.
“A year — now. The money he makes there are so good, that we can live comfortably in here. But Noah misses his father. You don’t happen to know how we can bring them back together, do you?” She asks me.
“I have an idea,” I say, as I begin to play with the table cloth. “Does your husband know how to bottle emotions? Headsets and solvents are readily available anywhere, and are inexpensive.”
“He won’t be able to bottle happiness for Noah,” she tells me. “He is just as unhappy about being gone, as Noah is to be apart from him.”
“He doesn’t need to bottle happiness,” I tell her, and try to convey with my eyes, that she should trust me. “What Noah needs, is his father’s true emotions. Sadness will be just as good for the boy, as a bittersweet feeling. I will tell you what: have your husband bottle his emotions and keep the bottle. Tomorrow, I will bring Noah a headset and a solvent. He will bottle his emotions, and we will send them to Hugo. After that, Hugo will bottle his emotions, after drinking Noah’s, and send us back both the bottles.”
“You want for them to understand each other without any words?” She asks me. I nod.
“Sometimes, the things we don’t say, are more honest than the things we do say,” I say, and then offer my hand. “My name is Constantine, but you can call me Tine.”
“Angelica,” she shakes my hand. Then, she bites her lower lip. “About your payment. Do you accept the same among as for a bottle of happiness, or do I need to pay you more?”
“I didn’t do this for the money,” I tell her, as I stand up. “Noah is a great kid. I liked speaking with him.”
Her eyes tear up, then. And suddenly, she is rushing into my arms, and holding me tight.
“You don’t know how it was like. To know that, they were both unhappy. To know that there was nothing I could do about it, but feed them other people’s happiness,” she lets out a sob, and I rub her back gently.
“It is all going to be ok,” I promise, to both her and me. I have found during the years, that, if I make a commitment to myself, things usually turn out fine in the end. “I will be back tomorrow. Spend some time with him. Give him silly ideas for drawings. Make sure he uses the orange pencil.”
She nods, and I squeeze her shoulder gently, before letting go. I wave at her, and then do an intricate bow. She giggles, and curtsies. I let myself out, so she can have time to finish her sandwiches. On the way out, I can’t help but think that humans have one thing down to a science.
Since they can’t bottle their emotions, they can’t simply take a bottle of happiness to work through their problems. They have to face them, and overcome their sadness. Sure, the result is not as quick as an orange bottle, but I find it is even sweeter than a bottle of happiness bottled by the happiest person in the Cosmos.
Chapter 6:
It is not lost
The moon now has orange legs, arms, hands with red gloves, a top hat, a walking stick that it is in the process of twirling around, and a yellow twinkle in its formally empty eyes. I pat Noah on the shoulders, and I stand to leave.
“Wait,” he says, as he folds his drawing in half, and holds it out to me. “Keep this safe. For when I feel like fixing the frown?”
I take the drawing, and place it in the inside pocket of my jacket.
“Same time, tomorrow?” I ask, and Noah looks ready to begin swinging in place.
“I’d like to bottle some happiness tomorrow,” he says.
“And why is that?” I ask him. I want him to voice his need. That is the first step, to getting the thing you want.
“Because, I want to send it to my father. So, he can remember me,” he tells me. I bend so that I am at eye level with him.
“You will send him your truest emotion, I have no doubt of that,” I tell him. Then, I smile. “Chances are, he will become so warmed up by your emotions, that he will come back as soon as he feels them.”
“You think so?” He asks, practically vibrating. I look at him from head to tail, and nod. It is the most serious nod that I have ever given. Full of promise, and honesty. “Pinky swear?”
I chuckle, and hold out my pinky. We do the swear, and I place him back on the couch.
“Lesson number one for happiness bottling: Gather positive emotions beforehand. Now, I leave you with a homework. Draw the silliest drawings that you can imagine. Tomorrow, when I come back, you will explain them to me,” I tell him, and he grabs a clean sheet of paper. I notice that he reaches out for the orange pencil, and I smile at that.
I leave him to his drawing, and go in search of his mother. The lady of the house is in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on some sandwiches.
“How is he?” I can sense her hope, her worry, her fears. It all threatens to choke her, that much I know.
“I left him drawing a picture with an orange pencil. I couldn’t take a good look, but I think he was drawing a squirrel,” I say with a smile.
“Did he smile?” She asks me. “At least once?”
“More than once. Can you tell me the story behind his missing father?” I ask, and make my way to the table. “If you don’t feel that I am prying into too personal a matter, that is.”
“Oh, that is quite ok. Hugo didn’t want to leave. It is just that, he couldn’t find work in Mirstone, so, he went to Wendel to work as an electrician,” I nod my understanding. Mirstone is a quiet retirement community. There is not even an industrial district in the town. I can see why someone will go and work in Wendel. It is the capital city of Ashfeld province, after all.
“For how long has he been off to work?” I ask, as I look her in the eyes. She sighs, and stops her work.
“A year — now. The money he makes there are so good, that we can live comfortably in here. But Noah misses his father. You don’t happen to know how we can bring them back together, do you?” She asks me.
“I have an idea,” I say, as I begin to play with the table cloth. “Does your husband know how to bottle emotions? Headsets and solvents are readily available anywhere, and are inexpensive.”
“He won’t be able to bottle happiness for Noah,” she tells me. “He is just as unhappy about being gone, as Noah is to be apart from him.”
“He doesn’t need to bottle happiness,” I tell her, and try to convey with my eyes, that she should trust me. “What Noah needs, is his father’s true emotions. Sadness will be just as good for the boy, as a bittersweet feeling. I will tell you what: have your husband bottle his emotions and keep the bottle. Tomorrow, I will bring Noah a headset and a solvent. He will bottle his emotions, and we will send them to Hugo. After that, Hugo will bottle his emotions, after drinking Noah’s, and send us back both the bottles.”
“You want for them to understand each other without any words?” She asks me. I nod.
“Sometimes, the things we don’t say, are more honest than the things we do say,” I say, and then offer my hand. “My name is Constantine, but you can call me Tine.”
“Angelica,” she shakes my hand. Then, she bites her lower lip. “About your payment. Do you accept the same among as for a bottle of happiness, or do I need to pay you more?”
“I didn’t do this for the money,” I tell her, as I stand up. “Noah is a great kid. I liked speaking with him.”
Her eyes tear up, then. And suddenly, she is rushing into my arms, and holding me tight.
“You don’t know how it was like. To know that, they were both unhappy. To know that there was nothing I could do about it, but feed them other people’s happiness,” she lets out a sob, and I rub her back gently.
“It is all going to be ok,” I promise, to both her and me. I have found during the years, that, if I make a commitment to myself, things usually turn out fine in the end. “I will be back tomorrow. Spend some time with him. Give him silly ideas for drawings. Make sure he uses the orange pencil.”
She nods, and I squeeze her shoulder gently, before letting go. I wave at her, and then do an intricate bow. She giggles, and curtsies. I let myself out, so she can have time to finish her sandwiches. On the way out, I can’t help but think that humans have one thing down to a science.
Since they can’t bottle their emotions, they can’t simply take a bottle of happiness to work through their problems. They have to face them, and overcome their sadness. Sure, the result is not as quick as an orange bottle, but I find it is even sweeter than a bottle of happiness bottled by the happiest person in the Cosmos.
