Shakin’ Like a Leaf

The lights above buzz, drawing Azure’s attention. A book, a tale of a small mouse fallen for a human princess, rests idly in his pale hands. The woman behind the desk, manly hands and lipstick on her teeth, smacks her presumably peppermint flavored gum. Besides them, there were three other people in the waiting room. Assumably, a mother and son both dark in complexion and bright in the eye, waiting patiently their turn for a check up or shots. The boy, no older than eight, is sitting next to his mom, a large brightly colored book in his lap. The mother has her own book, possibly teaching her son by showing her son the necessity of literature. Leading by example. A smile graces Asure’s face. He likes her methods of teaching. 

An older man with a dark mustache with a white stripe near the edge of said facial hair is quite literally twiddling his thumbs. He had been dinking on his phone a few moments ago, but Azure couldn’t tell if he was playing a game or contacting friends or family. Azure wouldn’t look at another’s device, as others doing so to him drove him up the wall, but usually a person looked more pensive while having a digital conversation and when playing a little phone game, joy or anger usually told whether they were winning or not. Honestly, the man looked more nervous than anything, so he could be waiting for someone to come from the hall to tell him some sort of bad news. Azure’s smile faded a little, his heart going out to the anxious man and hoping nothing too bad was happening. 

He looks back to his book, attention brought back to a sleeping in flour Despereaux. He smiles softly at the thought of a brave little mouse having fallen asleep in a murderous chef’s kitchen. Brave little mouse he was. Azure sort of wished he had been courageous like the mouse, or like the small girl named Sabrina, or like any of the other protagonists and even antagonists in his story books. Azure wasn’t afraid, but he wasn’t confident either. Most boys his age would rather be the mouse, brave savior, but Azure wanted to be the princess, the confident brave girl who didn’t panic when being led into a dungeon by a girl with a large kitchen knife. He wanted a royal’s regality without the castle or the crown. 

He remembers a time, he was younger than the boy reading the Sneetches with his mother, he had been playing alone at recess. A little girl, red hair and dirt colored eyes ran up to him, grabbed his hand, and pulled him into a game of four square. 

“What do you mean you don’t want to play?” The dark eyes of the mysterious girl intrigued him, but in all honesty, he was too shy to tell the girl he just didn’t do well with competitive games. He didn’t like conflict, even playful. 

“I don’t know how to play.” He states, trying not to itch his nose to tell the girl it was a lie, “I don’t want you to have to teach me.” That part was true. He hated when people tried teaching him things. He didn’t understand things the way the other kids’ did. He couldn’t figure out why, but when the teacher, usually his mom or dad spoke, regardless of the way they spoke, the information simply wouldn’t stick in his mind. Then the teacher got frustrated and tried again to explain. When it still didn’t connect in his mind, the teacher got angry. Anger leads to yelling. Yelling to screaming. Unfortunately, usually screaming led to hitting. 

“Oh,” the girl deflated. “Well, we can teach you anyway.” The way the girl smiled at him, along with all her friends who seemed taller than he was, made him want to agree. He didn’t. He shook his head, smiled regretfully, and walked back to the tree where he continued braiding grass until the bell for class rang. 

Azure glances at his watch, ignoring the actual time and opting to notice that the long hand that had been pointing straight down, now pointed down and a little to the side. After looking away, his mind connects the hand’s position to actual time. It’s four-thirty-five. 

He sighs and looks back at the book, but he reads too fast. He skips lines and flip-flops words. He grunts his frustration and shuts the book, deciding to rest his presumably tired eyes. As his cobalt irises are covered by his lids, the dark eyed girls face falls into place in his mind. 

She’s by herself today, Azure noted unconsciously. He had been watching her since her offer to play four square. Every day he saw her, she was with less and less people. Yesterday, only two people, the twins from fourth grade were playing tag with her. 

He looked down at his hands, bruised lightly from his mom’s tight grip at the store. It hurt to hold a pencil and Miss Larson didn’t seem to understand and called him mom when he couldn’t make a good sentence around his stuttering to tell her he hurt them during volleyball yesterday. He could hear his mom’s voice, a cold fury under the calm displeasure of being interrupted by the teacher while at work. 

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories and looking back at the girl. She was sitting one one of the benches, swinging her legs distractedly. Azure looked around the playground unsurely. His gaze fell back on the girl as a strange thought popped into his head. 

Maybe, maybe we could be alone together. 

He instantly shook his head disregarding the thought. She had plenty of friends. He stood, dusting his pants off with his little hands, wincing lightly at the pressure. He started wondering towards the girl, ignoring his brain that wanted him to freak out and turn back. She was alone, there was no harm in trying to befriend her when she was alone. 

“H-hello,” he waved a little, his brows furrowed frustratedly at the incurable stutter. He hated when he stuttered. She looked up at him, hair swaying around her head in the unpredictable winds and shock written on her face. 

She waved back before jumping on him, talking a million miles an hour. He tried running, but she thought he had started a game of tag. They had played all day, at both recesses. He loosened up to her bit by bit. 

A tall red haired girl skips back into the waiting room from the hall and the pale, blonde nurse waves the mother and son back. She pulls him up and tugs him to the door. 

“You look rather pensive, Azure.” The girl states, pressing on the clutch and shifting the gear. He jumps, looking at his observant friend. 

“I was thinking about grade school.” He mutters, imagining himself a small mouse with no courage. 

“Oh,” she seems to deflate before lighting up, “You were thinking of how we met.” She states it as though she had known all along. He finds himself nodding slowly, muttering witch in his mind with a suspicious tone. 

“Y’know, if you weren’t so brave and said hello to me on that playground, I don’t think we’d even be friend right now.” She says casually. Azure’s face shows his obvious confusion and disbelief, but Amy is a very good driver and didn’t take her eyes off the road to notice. 

“I was not brave when I greeted you,” he disagrees. She tuts, shaking her head like a mother who’d found her child doing something they shouldn’t but seemed amused by the situation. Azure had never had anyone do such things personally, but he’s read of plenty of the same situations so he understood the sound. 

“You were shakin’ like a leaf and stuttered so hard I could hardly understand you,” she pauses and ignores his indignantly shouted exactly before eyeing him down harshly with a face that reprimanded with no need for words. “But you came and played with me anyway. Azure, being courageous is not to not have fear. It is to fear but not let that fear stop you,” she explains patiently. He still learned weird and it took him a small amount of time to understand things, but when he got there he understood perfectly. 

He nods slowly and turns his head to point his smile out the window. The memory of their meeting, previously tainted in trepidation and uncertainty bathed in the light of apparent confidence.