A Boy and His Monster

I would often wonder about the smiles on people's faces. Whether they were real or if they were all simply pretend. 

“Father,” I said.

“What is it, Toru?”

“When they pretend, does it hurt?” 

“Pretend what?”

“When they pretend to smile?” 

I watched my father's expression slowly contort as he brought his hand to his face and rubbed at the stubby hairs on his chin.

“Why would it hurt Toru?” my father asked.

“Wouldn’t it hurt if you tried to be something other than yourself?”

My father never answered my question. I was ten. At the time, I imagine he left the room in disappointment, whispering something along the lines of “a child's imagination” under his breath. Blaming my probing thoughts on my mother's parenting, and moving on with his day, never thinking much about it. Another absurd idea from a little boy who knew far too little about life. 

***

The rain outside drizzles down the foggy window, like teardrops racing each other to the edge of a cliff. I watch as they slowly crawl closer and closer to the edge. When I was younger I pictured them as race cars. I would yell “victory” and trace a star around the winner on the glass. How boyish of me. A gentle knock comes from my bedroom door.

“What is it?” I say.

My mother walks in. Her brown hair is tied up neatly, and she’s wearing a deep imperial blue dress set just above her ankles. Fathers favorite.

“Time for bed, you have a big day tomorrow,” she says.

“Right,” I say.

She’s looking at me, a trace of concern forms above her eyebrows. Her hand brushes my hair away from my face. 

“Get some rest okay.”

“Okay, goodnight,” I say. 

I turn eighteen tomorrow, the one year everyone in my generation eagerly awaits. Tomorrow when I wake up, I will no longer be alone in my own mind, strange. An elaborate AI designed to keep an eye on me as a child will awaken. Every aspect of who I am that has been observed, gathered, examined, and stored will come to life and interact with me only. A mini-me materialized from the versions I’ve been. What will it be like? I get up from my spot at the window and climb into bed, the ceiling above feels heavy against my eyes. I reach for the light, and within moments the darkness encases me into a deep slumber. 

***

Inner Child Initiated. 

***

A soft touch grazes over my chin, and the sound of short, young breaths tickles my ears. A sense of realization shocks my mind, and with a sudden jolt, I open my eyes. Laying on my chest is a young boy, his blue iris staring deeply into my own, twirling my hair around his small index finger. His face wears a curious look; gloomy, and vacant, yet oddly innocent. I raise my hand to touch his face and a sensation of soft skin presses against my palm. He feels light as if pressing too hard might cause him to fade away. He’s cold. I look at his dark black hair, its tendrils curl and shift as though in an unfelt wind. His freckles dot across his nose like bits of mud flicked up from the Earth. I notice his small weightless figure, his skin a smooth ivory. His pleated baggy trousers and musty buttoned shirt seemed to be tattered with age. His indifferent manner makes me wonder.  

“Do you have a name?” I ask, my voice a coarse morning whisper. 

He tilts his head to the side and looks at me dumbfoundedly. A sly smirk slowly emerges from the corner of his lips. His eyes tease, smile, and glint all at the same time.  

“Silly boy,” he says. 

A chill foils up my spine, I sit up looking at the projection in front of me. He's almost an exact copy, less whimsical than I had imagined. Something about him is off. Why does he look at me so deeply? I wonder what he's thinking. Can he think? I get out of bed and pull on some clothes, he stays there eyes following me around the room. It’s Sunday, I head downstairs, tie on my shoes, and grab a muffin on my way out the door. He follows close behind me down the alley, jumping in murky puddles. I note the way the water does not ripple around his shoes. He does not seem to notice.

“Having fun” I ask.

“Is this fun?” 

I stop walking and look at him, he stands there waiting for my answer. He seems to genuinely not know. 

“I guess so… yeah.” 

“How come?”

“Well, you know… you get wet and make a mess. I guess it’s fun to see the water splash.”

“Then will you be having fun too?” He asks.

I turn and continue walking, and he follows. Strange boy. When I get to the library I browse the fable section. I run my fingers along the spines and pull out an old book. I sit down at a table by the back window, he sits down across from me. After a while of reading, I prop my elbow up on the surface and tuck my hand underneath my chin. The words on the pages in front of me start to blur as my mind zooms in and out of focus. 

“Bored?” Says a young voice. 

I lift my head to find the small boy still sitting across from me.

“No, not really,” I say, flipping to another page. 

“What does it say?” he asks, looking intently upon the book. 

“You can’t read?”  

“I’m not sure.” 

I flip the book around in front of him and watch as he leans in closer, squinting his eyes. He sits there for a moment dusting the pages with his gaze, searching for something. 

“You can’t see the words?” I ask. He looks up and nods his head. Must be the programming. I walk around the table and sit next to him. He shifts his attention to my face. 

“It’s a short story about a sea monster who forgets who it is.”

“A monster?” 

“Mhm… Within the silence of a deep ocean, a monster came to understand that alone it had nothing.”

I flip the pages of the book to a painted picture.

“Can you see this?” I ask, he nods twice scooching in closer. I brush my fingers over the page pointing at the dark plum-colored creature in the center, surrounded by a heavy amount of barren grays and blues. 

“It put an island on its head and pretended to be an oasis drifting amongst the waves. This way people would come and visit.” I flip the page and gesture at the island of dancing figures floating above the water. “People came and went, laughing, having fun, enjoying their time on the island. After a while, the monster could not feel its existence, almost as if it had become transparent.”

“Transparent?” The boy repeated,

 “Yes, beneath the island under the tides it could feel the water begin to flow through it, in this vast body, even the fish had forgotten its presence.”

“So what did it do?” The boy asked, perched on the edge of his chair.

“Well, I guess it started to wonder what would happen if it rose up out of the sea. If the people learned that under the island was a monster, and upon knowing would they still visit? The monster pondered if the truth would be too scary for them.”

“And did it rise out of the water?”

“No, it never did. Gradually it dwindled away under the island, consumed by its own solitude”

“That's a shame.”

“How so?” I ask.

“The creature, and the people… They could’ve had fun together.” 

I close the book and stand up looking out the window, the sun is beginning to melt below the horizon. It's time to go home. On the way back the dewy light of day slowly darkens into night, and I find myself taking a long way home. In the window of a lit-up house is a scene of a smiling family. I notice a young girl, she stretches her lips into the slice of an orange, does it not sting? I lick the corners of my lips and walk a little faster. The boy follows closely behind. Like always, the crickets chirp, the street lights buzz, and the air smells of cut grass, and damp soil. For a moment I could feel the Earth exhaling, in such a way that I imagined evaporating with the dew. 

“What do you think of your existence?” I ask the boy. 

He flickers into view beside me, walking at my rhythm. He looks at his hands, and with one finger he follows the creases on his palms to the tip of his nail. He sticks his nose up to the sky, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply. Then he reaches for the ground; his hand sinks into the asphalt below, not disrupting his pace. 

“I exist… In this existence I can not feel, I can not smell, and I can not interact.”

He looks at the stars, then down at the puddles in the road, and finally, he looks at me. Maybe it's the yellow light illuminating his face, but as I gaze into his stare a feeling of unease slips into my thoughts.  

“I suppose you are my island, and I am the monster underneath.” 

My heart pulses inside its cage, I can feel the dangerous moods begin to rise in my throat. The hazardous feelings that almost always led to pain, and my father's voice slithering in from the words he itched into my bones. I look at the boy, so the monster keeps the island from sinking… 

“Then monster, what am I to do?” I ask. The wind stirs, and in the distance, far away I can almost feel the tides begin to fold.