Aloysius

Oliver hated his life. At the ripe old age of 9, Oliver found many problems with everyone. Mrs. Callahan, for example, his math teacher. Why did she always wear such strong perfume? Was she masking a stench so impossibly horrible that nothing less than an entire bottle of J'adore Eau de Parfum could fight it?  

Or Davek, the boy to his right during art class. Did he always have to be so messy? Yes, Oliver fully understood that they were nine and ‘mess’ was usually the expected aftermath of children of his and Davek’s age, but there was no obligation to live up to the stereotype! And specifically in Oliver’s personal space! Sigh.

His parents worked too much, his older sister played with her friends more than him, and his cat still wasn’t completely potty trained (or litter trained?).  

Not to mention, Mr. Joseph next door found some way to be the loudest person in the entire galaxy. Oliver’s mom says that he’s ‘in-between jobs’, and he isn’t entirely sure what that means, but does it have to be so noisy?

Oliver was home alone a lot, as his parents had a troubling addiction to their work and his sister seemed to be allergic to home.

All the same, being home alone often meant that Oliver learned how to do many things. He learned to make his bed by five, how to fold blankets at six, and he just learned how to cook macaroni and cheese a few months ago. Plus, laundry was child’s play by now.

Because of all his grown-up abilities, Oliver also had a very grown-up outlook on life. His motto was, ‘Live and let live… unless Mr. Joseph disrupts your six PM Sunday programming with his incessant drilling.  

When Oliver’s father had the time to parent him, Oliver tended to take to heart what he said, because the experience was so rare. And whenever Oliver got frustrated with something, which was admittedly often, he would say this, “Oliver, if something makes you frustrated, or annoyed, or upset, you need to grab it by the throat and tell it what’s what. This is your world, son, and it needs to listen to you.”

That advice is what carried Oliver’s small legs over to the house next door.

He knocked thricely on the door, but of course, the drilling didn’t stop. It never did, did it?

He rounded the back of the house, skirting the poorly trimmed grass along the very edge of the yard until he came to the glass back door. Peering through, darkness obscured most of his vision. Who has all of their lights off at six o’clock in the evening?

And who leaves their back door unlocked? Mr. Joseph, apparently.

Slipping in the house, with only the natural light to guide him, he took careful steps towards the drilling’s source.

There wasn’t much furniture from what he could tell, and almost all the windows were covered with duct tape. Odd.

Along the wall was a door, which led to the basement. Creaky wood stairs with a mildewy smell and all. 

Mr. Joseph wasn’t facing Oliver, he was instead hunched over a workbench, red and yellow sparks spraying to the sides of him. It was a wonderful spectacle, although loud. Always so loud.

Oliver cleared his throat pointedly like his father often did when Oliver’s mother did something wrong. Assert your dominance to get what you want.

He didn’t seem to hear.

Oliver stepped closer and prepared his throat for a louder, and even more pointed clearing when a shiny object caught his eye.

Turning, he saw a metal object leaning gingerly on its stand, buffered to a blinding shine. In fact, upon further inspection, Oliver noticed that most of the dingy basement was filled with shimmery, alluring metal objects, things he couldn’t identify. Still, the original object held his attention above all else.

Gold and silver and the size of a large backpack, the object looked like nothing Oliver’s ever seen before. It had straps on the front and looked not too heavy, and Oliver was pretty annoyed with Mr. Joseph as it was…

In a moment of rebellious rage, Oliver scooped up the metal backpack and slung it across his back before retreating up the steps.

Oliver’s steps were heavier with the weight of the metal backpack, and when he arrived in his bedroom it dropped to the floor with a metallic crash.

With the door locked and blinds tightly drawn, Oliver looked at the object with wonder. An amalgamation of multi-colored wires and brightly polished gold and silver metals; it looked like nothing Oliver had ever seen before in his nine years of living. Except, maybe a bomb from those crime-shows his mother liked to watch when she was home.

God, he prayed he hadn’t stolen a bomb because that meant two things. One, that meant his neighbor was some potential terrorist and a threat to national security, and two, he may blow up himself and the house. What a mess that would make.

Oliver was surprised to see a pulsating, glowing red button he somehow missed towards the bottom of the machine.

‘Press once to hover, hold to fly.’ Said small inscribed words above the button.

Fly? That could only mean one thing… jetpack.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Oliver ran to the kitchen and grabbed one of the grocery bags his mother stored under the sink and stuffed it with the essentials; two pizza Lunchables, a fruit punch Capri sun, two poptart packets, and banana Laffy Taffy (because banana is the superior flavor).

Jetpack, grocery bag, and extra jacket (in case it gets nippy in the air) on hand, Oliver marched to the front yard with a lofty sense of purpose he hasn’t felt in a while. The sun had long since set, and with seeing the dark abyss of the sky above him, Oliver ran back to grab his father’s flashlight from the toolbox.  

Nervousness didn’t hit him until all that was left to do was hold down the red button and take off. 

      With what little grandeur his life had held until that moment, Oliver became a silhouette pressed against the cool night sky.  

      Not for a second did Oliver think he would miss his family and, flying across the city that night, this thought never failed him. 

     He watched the people, ants in a molehill beneath his dangling feet, gradually wake with the sun as the night dwellers fell away and sunlight stripped the darkness bare. The horizon brimmed with cheerful sunlight, and Oliver never looked back. 

#

The wind was going to be an issue.  

Oliver hadn't thought of it when he set out on his adventure- he hadn't thought ahead to plan for almost anything, honestly- but as he flew further from his home, he felt the wind pick up as the sun rose in the sky. It pushed him forward at speeds that were beginning to make it difficult to navigate, especially with the unpredictability and limited mobility of the large metal box strapped to his back.

At first, going faster felt exciting.

He felt like a rocketship, a rusted old rocketship that, as the wind whistled in his ears and caressed his face, stripped him of the rust and dirt which covered his once bright, silvery exterior. (He doesn't actually have a bright, silvery exterior, that was just a part of the metaphor.)

Ahead, he could see a flock of birds flying in formation, an extended V shape that pointed forward, away from Oliver. He whooped as he neared the birds, amazed that he was truly flying.

He quickly pulled up next to the flock, smiling brightly, and said, "Hello bird!"

The bird closest to him, a black-headed goose, seemed to tilt it's head quizzically.

"Hello, bird!" Oliver reiterated, waving.

The bird squawked, which Oliver first took as a returned greeting, but he quickly realized was a squawk of terror at, in the goose's mind, a very large, fleshy bird with a metallic flaming object stuck to it back.

The flock, with startling synchronicity, veered to the left and cut Oliver off in some sort of New-Jersey-Garden-State-Parkway-road-rage move that caused Oliver to lose the already minimal control over his flight pattern. He spun off, the sky blurring as he lost height and spiraled down, with no ability to save himself.

Oliver was disappointed, but not surprised. His adventure was over almost as quickly as it had begun, and would end in a firey tragedy that wouldn't amount to anything. He could imagine the despondent look on his parents' face when they would come to the scene of his firey crash.

"This is what happens when you fly in the clouds; you crash and burn and die." Oliver spitefully imagined his father saying with that ingrained frown of his.

Wild squawking interrupted his thoughts and the noise enveloped him, almost louder than Mr. Joseph's drilling. He felt himself being nudged from all sides by oddly fluffy wings and heads and bodies. Beneath him, he felt his legs straighten as the world did, and although he was extremely dizzy, he was alive and flying forward again. And surrounded by the flock of birds, still nestled close to him as to make sure he stayed on his forward path.

"Thank you birds," Oliver mumbled as he gathered his bearings. "I'm Oliver."

Oliver knew birds can't talk, even life-saving geese, but he liked to imagine the closest one, the one he had greeted before he almost fell out of the sky, responded, "Hello Oliver, we're Aloysius."

#

"All of you have the same name?" 

Oliver had been flying in the same way for a while before he asked his first question, the birds never wavering from their various nestling positions around his body, careful to avoid the heat emitting from his jetpack.

"We are all from the same family, Aloysius. That's what we all are." Oliver thought he heard.

"That must be confusing, because if I call Aloysius and am looking for you, but everyone else responds because you are ALL named Aloysius..."

"We don't need names. We just know when one of us needs the other."

"Like mind reading?"

"Perhaps."

"Cool."

Oliver couldn't help but wonder if his parents had bothered looking for him yet. Had they even realized that he was gone? If they were a true family, they should be able to read each other's minds. That would make everything so much easier.

"I'm running away."

"I can tell."

"How?"

"You are Aloysius now, I can tell."

Oliver felt shocked and much more taken aback than he would've imagined. "I'm Aloysius?"

"Of course."

"Well, why? We just met."

"We decided to save you, and once we decide to care for someone, we care for them forever."

"Forever?"

"Forever."

"That's a long time."

"I know."

"How could you make such a large decision so quickly?"

"We think often about caring. It's easy to decide when you are so familiar with a concept."

"I guess."

"Do you know what I'm saying?"

"Not really."

"Okay."

"You aren't going to explain?"

"You'll find out on your own."

"How?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"How could you not be sure?"

"Sometimes questions aren't ready to be answered yet, Oliver. Just like some people aren't ready to care yet."

"Okay."

"You have a question that is ready to be answered now, though."

"Really?"

"Yes, but not that one."

"Which one?"

"That one, and that one."

"I'm confused."

"Ask me the question, the big question, that is ready to be answered."

"How am I supposed to know which one needs answering?"

"These are not the questions that are important Oliver. Think."

Oliver thought. Oliver had lots of questions. Who originally named colors, and could Oliver change them? If the sky was blue, and the ocean was blue, how do we know which way is up? How much peanut butter should a sandwich have to be perfect? He had lots of questions. He was nine. However, it was pretty easy to decide that those questions were not the ones that needed answering right now. He thought deeper.

Why did he feel like his parents didn't love him? Why did he care so much that his sister played with her friends? How come no one seemed to care that Oliver wanted to live, also?

"Do my parents really love me?"

"You know the answer to that already, Oliver."

Yes. They did. Deep down, at least.

"Why do they not pay attention to me?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know."

"I thought you knew everything."

"What gave you that impression?"

Oliver wasn't sure. Maybe he already had a preconception that presumably magical talking geese had the answers to everything in the universe

"You make me feel safe. I like being Aloysius," Oliver decided to say.

"I'm glad, Oliver."

"I want to be a goose."

"Why?"

"I want to feel like this forever."

"You don't have to change yourself to feel like you belong."

"Thank you, Aloysius."

"You're welcome, Oliver."

#

Aloysius and Oliver had been flying over a large expanse of trees for at least twenty minutes before a clearing became visible in the distance.  

"You guys are going south for the winter, right?"

"Yes, for now."

"Am I going to come all the way?

For the first time, Aloysius paused. "If you wish."

Oliver didn't have the time to decide whether this answer was truthful before something whizzed past Oliver's ear. He felt all of the geese around him tense.

Another speedy object, this time near Oliver's outstretched arm.

Aloysius squawked. "Hunters!"

A third bullet whistled its way through the air and finally struck a goose towards the outside of their grouping, who dropped like an anchor in the water.  

"Spread!"

The geese departed from their grouping and shot in every which way. It happened so quickly that Oliver almost lost control of his flight again. One Aloysius, the one he was talking to previously, remained by his side,8 however, and nudged him to move faster forward.

"Quickly Oliver!"

From his peripherals, Oliver saw at least another two geese drop and he could hear the pop pop pop of gunshots from far below.

"Stop!" Oliver yelled. "Stop!"

"Oliver we must move quickly, look forward. Look forward!"

"We have to help! We can't leave, we have to help!"

"Oliver-"

Oliver spun and dove in a quick movement, aiming for the hunter that stood exposed in the middle of the clearing.

As Oliver dove, he stared down the barrel of a rifle and was sure that he would be eating bullets at any second, but he never wavered.  

Before he could think any further, Oliver found himself on the ground. Dirt caked itself on his skin and smoke curled around his face. A couple of yards ahead, Oliver could see the hunter sprawled on the ground, unconscious.

Aloysius, all of them that were left, swooped down and landed around Oliver, poking and prodding him.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," Oliver said, "I'm alright."

"You know your question now, Oliver. Ask it."

Oliver didn't even hesitate. "Should I go back now?"

"Yes, Oliver, you should."

#

Three of Aloysius died and Oliver insisted on showing the geese how humans mourn. Oliver and the remainder of the geese surrounded the three and spoke kind words before burying them with headstones of white daisies found on the outskirts of the forest. Then, they flew away.

"Does that happen a lot?" Oliver asked quietly as the flew.

"Hunters? As often as you'd expect."

"That is terrible."

"That is life."

"It isn't fair!"

"It is life."

Oliver didn't say anything.  

"What you did, for us, was perfect Oliver. It was kind. It was care."

"Yes."

"And did you hesitate?"

"Well, no."

The goose squawked. "I knew you were Aloysius. I told you. Do you know what it means?"

Oliver looked at the sun setting to his right as the flew back over the city nearest the forest, towards a police station. "I think so."

"I'm glad. Goodbye, Oliver."

"Goodbye, Aloysius." Oliver paused and rummaged through the bag he had attached to the jet pack. He pulled out a Poptart. "Have you ever eaten a strawberry poptart?"

"I don't believe I have."

"I care about pop tarts and I care about you. You should have it."  

"Thank you." Aloysius took the poptart in his beak. "Farewell," They all seemed to say as Oliver lowered himself to the ground, slowly.

The jetpack caught on the entrance to the police station, so Oliver had to walk in sideways. He dropped the damaged device with a clang and wiped dirt from his eyes before looking up at the incredulous officer at the first desk.

"My name is Oliver Bauer. I have been missing for two days. My parents are looking for me, I'm sure of it."