Binny and Toody vs. The Monster

Binny and Toody vs. The Monster

A Short Story

By Maura Morgan

My backpack, loaded with books, nearly pulled me over. I hated it. It was uncomfortable on my rail-thin body and dragged on the ground even when it wasn’t filled. Mama said I should use it to help me fit in at school. I laughed when she said that: how could I, a googly, eight-eyed kid with four arms and a trunk for a body and legs with suction-cupped tentacles instead of feet that crawled, more or less—ever fit in at a school filled with humanoids three feet taller than me?

I didn’t need to bring books to and from school. With an eidetic memory and the ability to recall anything I’d learned in the blink of an eye, even googly ones, it was just a lame attempt to fit in. I didn’t need to go to school; I only did so because the law of this land required thirteen-year-olds to attend, and I was obligated to follow the custom.

Despite the load on my back and the slow pace with which I crawled along the concrete sidewalk, I enjoyed the sunny trek home from the sparsely windowed brick building. The sunshine was the best part of living here. I soaked it in every day.

No one ever bothered me; I was too scary looking. Sometimes, I wished I didn’t look scary. My looks made it hard to make friends on this planet. I only met Binny because he was sitting alone in the far reaches of the cafeteria, and no one else, humanoid or alien, would let me sit with them. Binny was my only friend. He was reserved and shy and not the least bit scary. He was a big ball of orange and pink fur, with two short arms and two feet hidden beneath his four-inch fuzzy coat.

I’d only been here a month, and already, I was aware of the pros and cons. The humanoids were awful, but the standard of living, according to my dad, was the reason we emigrated. In the old country, as we now refer to our homeland, we were as poor as the mud we crawled on. But here, our presence was valuable. My entire family was tailors: my mother could sew a humanoid suit by hand in half an hour. Of course, four hands and eight eyes helped, but the sticky mucus we secreted from our mouths removed the need for pins.

I turned the next corner to the multifamily unit we called home—we occupied the entire building. I came upon one Michael Snead. He held Binny by the ruff of his neck, feet dangling off the ground. He was screaming obscenities right at Binny’s face. With his quiet, even-keeled, and reserved demeanor, Binny was no match for him. I couldn’t even imagine Binny going bat-crap crazy and scaring Snead away with a fit of hysteria. Since I met him, I hadn’t even seen Binny laugh.

“You’re nothing but a furry balloon…I bet if I took a pin to you, you’d pop and splutter as you whirled through the air! I’ll have to try it sometime!”

Binny tightly closed his eyes and scrunched his face. His fur rippled as his body shook, and he held his short arms against his chest, fingers clutched tightly. Poor Binny. He could not defend himself, even against horrible, weak humanoids. He didn’t need to be on the peaceful planet he came from, so his only defense was an ancient instinct to ball up and flee.

I, however, had some offenses and defenses because I was not lucky enough to come from a place that believed harmony was the best path to a fulfilling life.

I quietly sidled up to Snead and focused all eight of my googly eyes on him, a trick my father taught me, and I quickly learned unsettled our humanoid neighbors. I employed it whenever I got uncomfortable with two-eyed stares. The best part, which also amused my father, was that I could stare at them with my pupils in different parts of my eyeball. Such talent! My father had exclaimed.

“Whatcha’ doin, Snead?” I asked him in a deep grumble, my most threatening voice.

He jumped, dislocating both feet from the ground, and dropped Binny, who balled himself up and rolled away as fast as his instinct could take him.

“Dad gummit,” Michael said. “There goes my vape money. Had to butt in, didn’t you toad-face?”

“The name is Toody, and yes, I did.” I braided my arms defiantly across my chest.

“Don’t do it again.”

“Or what?” I flicked my forked tongue at him and then spit on the sidewalk, where my saliva foamed and discolored the concrete.

Snead clenched his teeth, stuffed his hands in his pocket, and trudged away. I smirked. Snead didn’t need to know my spit was nothing more than sodium bicarbonate mixed with acetic acid. I had an upset stomach for which I’d taken sodium bicarbonate, and beings like me are known to have vinegary saliva on a typical day. As for the discoloration, well, that was from the chocolate candy I’d been sucking on.

I found Binny at the elementary school playground three streets away. He was sitting on the seesaw. I dropped my backpack, crawled up the board, and sat sideways on the other end. Despite our different shapes and attributes, the seesaw balanced perfectly. It would only move with intentional movement from either of us.

“You okay, Binny?”

He sniffled but wouldn’t look at me.

“Thanks, Toody,” he said, wiping his nose with his furry hand. “Snead takes my candy money every day. Can’t tell you the last time I had a Snickers.”

“You gotta stand up to him, Binny.” I leaned in, and my side of the seesaw went down, landing with a gentle bump. 

“How?” Binny complained, spreading his arms. “Look at me. I’m nothing but a blob of pink and orange fur.”

I studied him. He was right; at first glance, he seemed nothing more than a giant plushie. A thirteen-year-old girl would love to have him sitting on her bed—if he didn’t move or speak.

“Got any specialties?”

Binny cocked his head at me and leaned back on the seesaw. I rose in the air, wildly bouncing, nearly falling off, as Binny landed on the dirt. Binny gave a short, quiet laugh, but I felt good, having cheered him up. A short jolt struck me, like what happens when you drag your feet on a carpet in dry weather and then touch someone.

“What I mean is, well,” I paused as a description of the word in this context escaped me. Instead, I used an example. “One of my specialties is I’m quiet. You saw me sneak up on Snead. And you saw me spew a nasty spitball. Anything like that?”

Binny landed and pushed hard off the ground with his fuzzy, little feet beneath his round, furry body. I landed with a thud and let loose an oof. Binny laughed louder, and I felt the same jolt slightly stronger, like touching metal after dragging your feet.

“I can tuck myself and roll away quick.” I slowly nodded, urging him to continue with what I hoped was a longer list, but then he shrugged. “That’s about it.”

“Binny,” I said, rubbing my fingers together, my skin tingling. “How often do you laugh?” I leaned in again, and my side of the seesaw went down. I put two hands out to cushion my landing.

“Same as everybody,” he said. I doubted him but sensed defensiveness in his voice, so I tempered my words. The last thing I wanted was for him to tuck in and roll because he thought I was threatening him. I’d only known him a month, but given we were two of only a handful of “monsters” in school, we became tight quick. We had lunch, study hall, English, Math, and Thwimba language classes together, and I didn’t recall him ever laughing. He was so mellow, so blasé about everything I started to think his kind couldn’t laugh.

“Do you like jokes?”

“I love jokes,” Binny said, his eyes brightening. “But my mom and dad don’t allow us to tell them to anyone except family. Mom says they’re dangerous.”

“Has anyone ever told you a joke?”

Binny shook his head. I didn’t remember ever telling him a joke or anyone else telling him a joke. I couldn’t say I saw him talking to anyone else at school. I realized it was probably because we all thought of Binny as melancholic and unable to laugh. 

“Why can’t you hear a pterodactyl going to the bathroom?”

Binny squinched his eyes together and shrugged.

“Because the ‘p’ is silent.”

Benny let loose with the loudest belly laugh I’d ever heard. In the same instant, electricity blasted through my body and blew me off the seesaw. I landed about ten feet away. I lie on the ground, the wind knocked out of me, staring into the bright sun. I heard Binny land on the ground with a thump, and I stayed where I was until he blocked my view of the local star.

“That’s a great specialty, my friend. Let’s try it out.” I offered my hand to him, and he took hold of it with his fuzzy one and helped me up.

We wandered through the neighborhood streets. I didn’t tell Binny I was looking for Snead. I didn’t know what Binny had taken away from the little incident on the seesaw. He hadn’t put two and two together, and I was sure he’d ball up and roll all the way home if I told him, not even wanting to try out his specialty. We came upon Snead threatening another kid from school for his money. Binny stopped walking and turned around, ready to ball, but I grabbed his arm.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you, I promise. Just go with me on this,” I reassured Binny.

Snead turned around and saw us, probably sensing bigger prey. He let the other kid go and turned to us. The other kid ran away and disappeared around the block.

“Hey, toad-face. I found out your spit was nothin’ to be afraid of. And I ain’t afraid of your weird eyeballs, so I’m only gonna say this once to you two: hand over your money, or I’ll make cat paté out of you.”

“You caught us, Snead,” I said, bowing my head. “Maybe I could make it up to you with a joke?” I glanced at Binny, whose light bulb had suddenly gone off. He started doing a little wiggle and dancing in place.

“Naw, nothing will make it up to me except your money.”

“How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?” I waited a beat as though allowing Snead to answer. “Ten-tickles!”

I braced for what was to come and wasn’t disappointed. Binny gut-busted a laugh, and I flew, landing on a plot of soft green grass. But I didn’t miss Snead as he soared through the air. He landed in a bunch of garbage cans across the street with a deafening thud and ended face-down on the sidewalk. When he looked up, his nose and his face were bloody. I looked at Binny, who was groovin’, bobbing back and forth to an invisible beat, pirouetting on his heels and waving his arms.

“Hey, Toody!” Binny shouted, pointing at me. “It’s all fun and games—”

“Until Binny belly laughs!”