Sad (or something like that)

The first time he found it, he was three and Mommy was trying to teach him words. He hid in Daddy’s closet because then he wouldn’t be able to see Mommy, which meant that she couldn’t see him, either. He wanted to cry a bit because his stomach was growling and he didn’t know why, but because he knew that if he cried Mommy would find him, he decided against it in the end (though not in so many words. He didn’t know so many words).

He missed the times when Mommy and Daddy would take him to the park and he would chase butterflies, back when she wasn’t always trying to make him talk. He wasn’t sure why Mommy wanted him to do it so much. She cared a lot about it—or was it not at all? He wasn’t sure, because even though she asked him to try so very very often, she was never sad after he didn’t do it; she smiled just as much after as before. (Or was she just always sad?)

He might’ve wondered, at that point, if Mommy had stopped bringing him there because he was a bad boy, but mostly, he just thought about the park. He thought about it so hard that, suddenly, Daddy’s closet turned into green grass and blossoming flowers.

But all good things come to an end and that had certainly been a good thing. It, too, ended (too soon). He would’ve liked playing with the butterflies forever, but the closet turned back into a closet too soon and he could do no such thing. Finding a spider on his nose transformed his whit of discontent to utter hysteria, prompting him to burst from the closet, upset and angry, screaming and crying, “Mama!” His mouth opened and he found himself spouting what Mommy always liked to say (though he wouldn’t be able to tell you what it was if you asked him). “G-gawd hwelp e!”

He ran right into Mommy’s legs, “G-gawd hwelp e!” at his lips the entire time.

Mommy was delighted. “Ooh, my baby—my baby!—Your first phrase, finally! I’m so proud—so happy!”

Even though he didn’t say another word that day, they still went out for ice cream, with a very big scoop and a cherry on top.

He forgot all about the butterflies in the closet. (How can butterflies ever beat ice cream?)

*****

The second time he found it, he was fifteen and Mommy had read The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe to him for the first time. He sat in the darkness in Daddy’s closet (for his was too small and his mother’s too full) for five hours straight, waiting for Daddy’s moldy raincoat that kept making him sneeze and the trouser legs that kept getting in his mouth to suddenly turn into grassy green and flowering blossoms.

He couldn’t remember what the girl in the story found when she went through the wardrobe, but he thought it might be nice if he could see some nice stars. Mommy always loved the stars. If Daddy’s closet could take him to stars, then maybe Mommy wouldn’t be so mad at him like she always is.

By the end of the five hours, the darkness—which had slowly begun changing two hours in, as he had started growing tired—was speckled with stars and he was lying on his back, counting the specks of light in the sky. He (almost) couldn’t even taste the trousers anymore and (almost) didn’t want to sneeze anymore.

He had just gotten to thirty-four (and then lost count again) when the door flew open and Mommy dragged him away from the disappearing stars. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” she snarled. “I was terrified, you know!”

He didn’t know (because he wasn’t listening) (because he was staring at the closet and trying to remember how many stars he’d gotten to).

“Hurry up, will you? You’re going to make us late to the doctor’s!”

Then he started crying because he didn’t want to go to the doctor’s. He didn’t like that they were always so mean even though they thought they were always so nice, and he didn’t like the questions they would always ask him that he would never know the answer to, and he didn’t like the way Mommy always looked so mad every time they left the doctor’s.

But what could he do? (He couldn’t do anything.)

Mommy would be mad if he didn’t go. (Or was it just sad?)

He forgot all about the stars in the closet.

*****

The third time he found it, he was forty and Mommy said he needed to find his own place soon. He crouched in Daddy’s closet even though it was dusty inside and Daddy hadn’t come back since that time he went to the doctor’s himself. He wasn’t sure why he was hiding in Daddy’s closet. It wasn’t comfortable and it was so small his head hit the ceiling whenever he forgot it was there and he tried to stand up. He just knew he was hiding here, hiding from Mommy because he didn’t want to move out. He loved living with Mommy. (Didn’t Mommy love him?)

He pouted a bit as he stared up at the ceiling, wishing in the back of his mind that it didn’t hurt so much when he hit his head on it. He wished Daddy would come back sometime because then, maybe Mommy wouldn’t want him to leave. Maybe if they could see Daddy sometime, Daddy could tell Mommy that she shouldn’t make him leave.

Daddy always liked the blue sky because it was brighter than Mommy's stars. When Daddy used to kiss him goodnight, Daddy used to tell him that he put Daddy on the clouds. But he always thought that was silly because didn’t Daddy know there were no clouds at night? (You could only ever see fluffy white clouds during the day.)

Even though Daddy was always so silly, he still wanted to be in the clouds with Daddy sometime. He was sure it would be a lot of fun.

And then suddenly, he was standing on a fluffy white cloud, surrounded by fields of white and blue sky in all directions. And there, on that cloud far away, he could see Daddy.

And surely—surely—Mommy would be happy now. (Certainly not sad.)

(But she was.) (Sad)

(When she threw open the door and found him smiling in his sleep, she started crying and laughing but mostly just crying.)

(She loved him so much. He could sleep anywhere, and she loved that. He was innocence personified, and she loved that. He didn’t know a thing, and she loved that but she hated that.)

(Oh, but who was going to take care of him when she died someday soon?)