Lunatic
Short Fiction by Stephen Geez
www.StephenGeez.com
Art by Dizzy
DizzyArt
In a world of gods and monsters, I’ve been called both, but no matter how many people watch me, there’s a secret nobody knows:
I’m stalking a little boy.
His dad refers to him as Billy, but his mom sometimes calls him “My Big Boy,” especially since he started school last year, though he’s really not very big compared to others his age.
I admit our relationship is unorthodox, but even though I never intended it to happen, he seems to like having me around. Still, I try to keep my distance, but I do find myself following him, no matter how long the trip. When he’s playing outside, I watch over him, sometimes even boldly showing myself, though mostly I stay hidden from view. Even then, he seems to know I’m around, and he counts on that.
Billy does talk to me, but only when he’s alone at night in his room, whispering to me through the window. When he spies me peering inside, it cheers him up. He wipes away his tears to tell me stories, imagining the fun he hopes to have this summer, or maybe next year, or even when he really is big someday. Then if he does manage to sleep, I know I’ve helped him feel better. Still, I keep watching, often until morning.
Right now he’s gone to that place he hates so much. I knew this would be one of those rough days when his mother laid out that outfit last night, including the cap he refuses to leave home without. He cried when he saw it, so she hugged him and called him her super-brave big boy, but he waited until she’d gone, then came to the window and whispered his fears to me again.
I can’t be there for him today, though. I have places to go, things to do. I’m going as fast as I can, trying to get back before Billy comes out. I want him to see me as I follow him all the way home, to know I’m lingering outside his window, even though it’s from a safe distance.
Okay, I’m here now, and I see his mother’s car, so they must still be inside. It’s taking longer this time, and that scares me. He’s never stayed this late. It’s getting dark out.
These trips keep proving harder and harder on him.
Most of the time I feel big and powerful, like I can shape the very world, lift oceans, guide lost souls . . . yet at times like this I feel utterly helpless. I can’t save a frightened little boy who wears a cap because he’s embarrassed about those treatments robbing him of every last lock of his soft brown curls.
Two nights ago, there from his window during our secret, special time together, he told me the silliest story. He spoke of frenzied objects dashing about, loony farm animals leaping into the air, some feline performing music, and he even gave me a part in his wonderful tale. He actually smiled as he told it, one of those increasingly rare moments when joy dances in his little eyes.
Ah, they’re coming out now.
Oh no, he looks sick again. His mommy puts his cap on him, then picks him up and carries him to the car. He looks for me, and when he finds me I smile back, putting on my best face.
Tonight, this night, I dare to give him a reassuring wink.
So I follow him home again, a journey I’ve taken many times. I wait patiently outside during his bath time, his futile attempts to keep down a snack, the sickness. Finally, he’s in bed now, but tonight he’s moving about, uncomfortable. At least he seems to be managing some sleep. He needs the rest.
I’ll wait out here as long as I can, peeping secretly through the window, a crazed lunatic watching one big little boy who needs a friend he knows will always come around.
I would bend the world for him. I would lift oceans. I would cast light into darkness. Were there any chance it might make him feel even the slightest bit better, I would hold still and let that loony cow from his story jump over me again and again.
Then, finally, Billy would laugh once more while that cat plays fiddle, a little dog laughs, and the dish runs away with the spoon.
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© The Fresh Ink Group, LLC, 2009
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