"Ignore him, honey. Don't make eye contact. Here, let's cross the street." The woman pulled her children into the road, hurrying to reach the other sidewalk. In her rush to avoid the shabbily dressed man pushing a carriage, she had forgotten one of her many sons. The child looked up at the stranger, tilting his head as he scrutinized him.
"You have big eyebrows." The man frowned, eyebrows coming together. The child flinched. "You look like the scary man in Mama's photos." He continued hesitantly, standing on his tiptoes to peer inside the carriage. "Is there a baby in there? Mama just had a baby. She named her Marianne and she has a little curl like Pa- Hey, why do you have books in here?" He inquired, pulling a heavy volume out of the carriage. The man scoffed.
"Why not keep books?" He said, taking it back.
"What's a Britain?" The boy said, not in the least fazed by the bushy-eyebrowed man's scowl. "These books don't have pictures."
"All the best books don't have any pictures at all." He admonished, tousling the boy's hair. "But here's one..." He pulled out a well-worn book, flipping to a page whose number he knew by heart. "See this?" The man pointed to an image. "This is the last queen of Britain. Isn't she pretty? She was only twenty-eight..." The child stomped his feet.
"But what's a queen? What's Britain? Is it like those places in books? Like...Like the Hundred Acre Woods?" He pouted, trying to figure it out. The man shook his head.
"Your mother should know, if she hasn't forgotten. Don't tell her I said this, but she's old enough to remember if she wanted to." He winked.
"What? Mama's not old, she doesn't have wrinkles like Uncle Bon...Bonne...Francis." He glared. "You don't know Mama!"
"Fine, fine...I think she's looking for you." The man said, sighing and pointing. The boy went red, knowing he'd be in trouble.
"Arthur! You were supposed to come with me! I've been worried sick!" The mother grabbed his hand, not even bothering to look at the stranger he'd been talking to. She dragged him away, making sure this time that all of her children were safe from such vagrants. As she did her headcount on the other side of the street, Arthur tugs at her sleeve.
"Mama, what's Britain? What's a queen? That man said you'd know." The brunette woman froze, eyes slowly traveling back to the man. He had his hands cupped around his mouth. He was shouting.
"Have a lovely day, Miss Seychelles!"
She shook her head. No, no. What was she thinking? Those words didn't ring a bell. She pinched her son's nose.
"He's a silly man. There's no such thing as Britain."
Not anymore.