I don't own Calvin and Hobbes or any other things I allude to.
The Bunny, the Spaceman, and the Transmogrifier
"Are you alright? Did something happen at school?" Your mama is looking at you concernedly over her bowl of stew.
School was the worst but you don't feel like talking about it. "Nuffingg," you mumble through a mouthful of potatoes.
Mama purses her lips and cups an ear with her spoon-free hand. She doesn't seem to have heard you.
You quickly swallow your half-chewed food. "I said, nothing, Mother," you enunciate exasperatedly.
She gives you the Look: half-lidded eyes with a raised brow, and you know she doesn't believe you for a second. "Is that so?"
If you could roll your eyes, you would, but you can't, so you settle for a heaving sigh and a petulant "Yes, Mother."
The following awkward silence, interrupted only by the loud clangs of the Nightly Pea-goring Massacre, ends when you finally break down in tears. "I ha-aaate Kindergarten!" you wail, "Nobody there is nice, not even the teachers! It should be called Meanygarten!" You just want to learn but everybody says you're showing off and ignores you. It isn't fair!
Mama looks at you steadily, her face full of understanding. "Go get ready for bed. I have a surprise for you."
You sniffle and push your chair back, wiping the tears and snot off of your face with an already grimy sleeve.
Mama pokes her head into your room and raps gently on the doorframe with one hand. Her other hand, you notice, is concealed behind her back.
"Come in," you say with a wavering smile.
She walks to your bedside and plonks herself down, the bed springs groaning under the unexpected weight. You dart your head about, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever Mama has in her other hand, but she thwarts your attempts by playfully swaying her body to block your view. The game dies after a few moments, and Mama is looking at you, her eyes sparkling like the night sky outside. You realize you are smiling too. She speaks. "Susan Helen Pevensie, you were named after two of the strongest women I knew. Helen Pevensie was my grandmother, and she did her best to keep her children safe and happy during one of the world's darkest times. Susan Pevensie was my mother. She not only lived through the German Blitz bombings, but she immigrated to America after having lost her siblings, and she fought for equal employment opportunities for women!""
Wow! Your grandma is real history! But something niggles at the back of your head. "Mama," you interrupt her before she can go on, "How can I have the same name as Grandma? Daddy and Grandpappy's names can't have both been the same, could they?"
Mama laughs and plants a fond kiss on your forehead. "Oh Susie, you're such a precocious girl." She continues, but her tone has changed from tender to wistful. "After you were born, your father and I, well, we seperated. When we were married, I was Mrs. Derkins, but afterwards, I didn't want his name reminding me of him all the time. Your grandpappy was an artsy-type man, and half hispanic to boot, so I had two last names: his, and your grandma's. I still can't for the life of me pronounce my father's name, so I just use my mother's." She laughs sheepishly. "And. That's. Why. You. Have. Your. Grandma's. Name!" She punctuates each word with a playful poke to your chest, and by the end of it, you are rolling on the bed, giggling uncontrollably. When you settle down, Mama finally shows you what she was hiding. From behind her back, she produces a well-loved bunny plushie. You look at it quizzically, but she only smiles. "His name is Peter Rabbit. I bought him at a yard sale. The boy who sold him to me insisted that I call him 'Rabbit,' if you can believe it," she makes a face and laughs. "Original, I know. Anyway, after a bit of back and forth, he let me choose a name as long as I kept his "real" name too." The way Mama makes her air quotes is highly amusing and you resolve to use them in any and every situation that you can. "It was no great loss to me, really, seeing as my two favorite characters both fit into what we settled on."
You know the first is Peter Rabbit, an invention of Beatrix Potter. Mama likes to read you those stories for bedtime. "Who's the second?" You ask.
Mama chuckles, the corners of her eyes crinkling into crows feet, "The second character is High King Peter the Magnificent." She's looking at you smugly, not quite facing you with her body, although her eyes are giving you a sideways glance. "He was your grandma's big brother."
You gasp. How exciting! "We have royal blood?!" You try to whisper it, but it comes out as a screech.
Mama just shakes her head back and forth, smiling as you flush as red as a grapefruit. "No, no. You see, when your grandma and her siblings were younger, they played make believe. They would pretend that an old wardrobe was a gateway to another world. It was a world where witches ruled and animals talked…"
Every night, Mama sits down with you and Peter Rabbit (who you call Mr. Bun since he's no Narnian, only a dumb beast), and she tells you more of Grandma Susan's tales. You always ask her to retell the story of the death of Aslan, the great lion. In order to save the silly and selfish short-sighted traitor, Edmund, Aslan sacrifices himself to torture and death at the hands of the White Witch's minions, even though Edmund doesn't at all deserve to be saved. You can't imagine someone doing that for you, and it's so sad but so hopeful at the same time. In the end, it's even happy because Aslan comes back from the dead to save the day, and Edmund grows up to become a good and just king! When you tell Mama your thoughts, she cries a little bit and goes to her room. She comes back with a big book that is falling apart at the seams. This book, she explains, has gotten her through many hard times, and there's a story in there that is just like Aslan's, only it's true. That night, you learn a lot.
Queen Lucy the Valiant, you tell Mama, is your favorite. She was the best storyteller of them all and was patient even when her siblings made fun of her imagination, and she knew Aslan the best, an' she got her siblings to follow her stories, an' she healed people instead of choppin' 'em up, an' she's just like you, an' you wanna heal people too, an' you wish she hadn't been smashed flat by a train so you could see her, an'... an'... Mama always smiles a bit sadly because she also wishes she could see her uncles and aunt and mother too. She tells you that if you study hard, you can be a doctor in honor of your great-aunt Lucy.
"Are you alright? How was school? Mr. Derkins is trying to hold eye contact with you while frantically fanning his tongue which he burnt on his instant ramen. It isn't working too well, and he looks quite comical, but you don't laugh.
"Hmph," you grunt noncommittally.
Mr. Derkins smiles sympathetically, "I know it's hard moving to a new town but cheer up! We're going to visit your mother this weekend!"
She probably won't even remember you. Like Grandma Susan before her, she's developed an extremely severe case of dementia and can no longer take care of you. You really wish Mr. Derkins would just leave you alone.
No such chance. Mr. Derkins blithely continues, oblivious to your wishes. "Did you make any friends? What about that boy with the stuffed tiger you talked to at the bus stop?" his eyes widen teasingly. "Do I need to go… have a chat with him?"
The loud screeching sound of metal folding chair scraping on vinyl floor makes you wince as you push away from the table, but you stomp for the stairs anyways. "Go ahead," you grouse, "He's just a weirdo who calls me boogerbrains all the time." You're not even halfway to the upper level when you hear heavy stomps and the teeth-rattling sound of the front door slamming. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you see no sign of Mr. Derkins nor the aluminum bat that he keeps by the doorway.
Things settle into routine. You get good grades. Mr. Spaceman Spiff bombs every quiz. You soundly trounce everybody in the classroom. 'Ol Spiffy is the laughingstock of the entire school. You mock Spaceman Spiff's, well, spaciness. The Spaceman teases you relentlessly. Mr. Derkins is convinced it's true love. You're convinced Mr. Derkins is a true weirdo.
Today is the best day of your life. It starts with a trip to the Emergency Room and ends with a visit from Mama. Somehow a masked moron managed to climb a thirty-foot oak and drop a snowball the size of a cat on top of your head. You end up in the E.R. and Mama gets a call from Mr. Derkins. But instead of having to be reminded of who Susie is, she demands that Mr. Derkins pick her up and bring her to visit you. After holding a completely lucid conversation with you and grilling you for details, she calls stupid 'ol Stupendous Man's poor parents and chews 'em out. You hope the dummy really gets it even though he accidentally gave you the best present ever.
You knew it was coming, but you had hoped it wouldn't come so soon. Mr. Derkins is standing next to you, resting a strong hand supportively on your shoulder. Mama looks so tiny and frail in her sanitary hospital sheets. Her sunken eyes stare vacantly into oblivion. A sob escapes your throat; you can't help it. You can't help but show some of the pain that you've hidden all these years. Mama turns her head to face you, but now her eyes are sharper and more alert. She crooks her index finger at you, and you draw near. She puts a trembling hand in yours, and you clasp it to your chest. You feel something smooth and hard pressing into your palm, so you take it and pocket it without looking. Mama looks you deep in the eyes and speaks. It's more a breath of wind than it is a whisper, and you have to strain your ears to hear.
"Take care of your papa, Susie, he needs it."
You nod, waiting for more, but Mama's eyes have again become glassy, and she turns away. Mr. Derk-no-Papa envelopes you in a great big bear hug and you can feel a hot tear splash onto your neck. You're still dry-faced and numb.
You're halfway home from the hospital before you allow yourself to look at what Mama gave you. Papa hears the rustling of your jacket and looks back at you from the driver's mirror but doesn't say a word. You uncurl your fingers and immediately recognize the smooth wood necklace nestled in your palm. It belonged to Mama. She never once took it off after Grandma Susan gave it to her. Before that, Grandma wore it every day after making it out of wood that she took from the broken wardrobe in which she played in as a child. You put it on and examine it more closely. Silver moonlight dances across the surface, breaking apart on the carved face of a lion which has nearly been completely smoothed away from decades of rubbing. You flip it over and study the words inscribed on the back. They read, "Not a tame lion." You allow yourself to cry.
The only evidence of your tears as you step out of the car is your puffy eyes and snotty sleeves. You take out your key to unlock the front door but freeze. On your doorstep, illuminated by the porchlight is a figure you neither expected nor wanted to see. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his black shorts, and he shuffles his feet, avoiding eye contact. You wait warily, wondering what the annoying boy wants. Finally, he takes something from his pocket and thrusts it at you. It's a pin. It looks like his jerky G.R.O.S.S badge, but when you turn it over, it reads: G.A.S.S.Y.
Seeing your puzzled and slightly revolted expression, he hurriedly explains. "It's short for Girls Are Super Strong, Yup. See, I was in an undercover mission to infiltrate an organization that's been thwarting my plots, but when I untransmogriphied, the badge never changed back." He shrugs uncomfortably. "I don't want it, and it'll be awhile before I can get a proper replacement badge, so G.R.O.S.S is out of commision indefinitely."
Your eyes begin to water, and you pin the badge to the front of your shirt. You take back every single bad thing you said about that boy. That's twice he's made your day in the best way. You hug him like you hug Hobbes. He's a good sport about it and doesn't pretend to die of cootie poisoning or strangulation even though your grip on him is like a python embracing a deer. "Thanks, Calvin," you choke out. With a casual shrug, he makes to turn around. A thought occurs to you. "Hey Calvin!"
"What?"
"How'd you know?"
He just gives you a funny look. "What do you mean? I didn't want that dumb badge and Hobbes told me you'd like it. That's all."
Today is the saddest day of your life and you can't wait to forget about it for a few hours. You don your flannel pyjamas and climb into bed. It isn't long before you drift off, Mr. Bun clutched tightly in one hand, your wooden necklace in the other.
You wake up with a fuzzy mind in the middle of a forest, but there's something wrong. You don't remember falling asleep outdoors. Where are you? The air is purer than you ever thought possible, but something feels out of place. The world is so still. It's as if everything in the universe were holding its breath. The forest is eerily quiet; there is not a single birdcall to be heard. You scramble to your feet and turn around, drinking in the awesome sight. There, in the middle of the clearing, stands a lone iron lamppost.