[drabble] Demons
"Shhh, the demons are sleeping."
I allow myself the barest lift of an eyebrow as my eyes light on the slight figure huddled on the chair. He holds a pen to his lips in a gesture that spells hush.
I let the rest of myself into the room and close the door quiet behind me, cross the room and scoot onto the couch beside him. He gives me a smile, a beam of sunshine and happiness and peace and contentment.
There's a notebook in his hand, spiral-bound with ruled paper that's ragged with dog-ears. The page is marked with geometrical shapes - tetrahedrons, pentagons, hexagons, decahedrons? It's a little hard to tell. The lines are clean, repetitive, deliberate. They overlap like a string playground pulled taut in a gazillion directions. Constellations of something. Like he's trying to read the stars and have them tell him something they're not letting on so he maps them every which way and... I wonder if he's gotten somewhere. Anywhere.
"I'm happy," he offers.
"That's nice," I say. "What made you happy today?"
"Nothing," is the breezy reply. I glance at him. He's put the book and pen down, folded his hands behind his head, stares off into a corner. He means it. He really doesn't know.
I touch my nose. I nod and smile.
Maybe that's enough, I think. The why isn't important.
A thought later, I pull myself close to him and wrap my arms around him. He's reluctant at first, but then he acquiesces. I hold him tight. I don't know who needs this lucidity more, him or me.
I hold on like I can keep the demons at bay.
I allow myself the barest lift of an eyebrow as my eyes light on the slight figure huddled on the chair. He holds a pen to his lips in a gesture that spells hush.
I let the rest of myself into the room and close the door quiet behind me, cross the room and scoot onto the couch beside him. He gives me a smile, a beam of sunshine and happiness and peace and contentment.
There's a notebook in his hand, spiral-bound with ruled paper that's ragged with dog-ears. The page is marked with geometrical shapes - tetrahedrons, pentagons, hexagons, decahedrons? It's a little hard to tell. The lines are clean, repetitive, deliberate. They overlap like a string playground pulled taut in a gazillion directions. Constellations of something. Like he's trying to read the stars and have them tell him something they're not letting on so he maps them every which way and... I wonder if he's gotten somewhere. Anywhere.
"I'm happy," he offers.
"That's nice," I say. "What made you happy today?"
"Nothing," is the breezy reply. I glance at him. He's put the book and pen down, folded his hands behind his head, stares off into a corner. He means it. He really doesn't know.
I touch my nose. I nod and smile.
Maybe that's enough, I think. The why isn't important.
A thought later, I pull myself close to him and wrap my arms around him. He's reluctant at first, but then he acquiesces. I hold him tight. I don't know who needs this lucidity more, him or me.
I hold on like I can keep the demons at bay.