Hello, all my FF peeps. I hope you guys like this story. I've been experimenting with different points of view. I really wanted to try something from the perspective of a child. Thank you all for reading. Please feel free to leave a review or requests. I would love to know your thoughts. ^-^
What I did wasn't nice. At least that's what Momma says. I didn't mean to, but I still feel funny about it on the inside. It's like eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My hands get all sticky and no matter how hard I try I can't get rid of it. I usually just try to wipe it off on my pants, but then I get fuzzies between my fingers. I end up picking at my own skin all day.
Mr. Montie just walks a little funny, like a penguin with no knees. Mommy doesn't exactly have a boss. She's her own, she says, but Mr. Montie's the closest thing to her having one. His visits are super important. He sits with momma at the table outside under a great big yellow umbrella. They talk about how things are going out west, way out over the ocean. They eat steak and lobster. Steak sauce gets all over Mr. Montie's stripey black suit and his creepy-crawly mustache. It looks like a ginormous grey caterpillar snuggling his upper lip. If I poked it with a stick it would probably crawl off into Grammy's flower bushes somewhere. His cheeks are red and round like he's been laughing for a whole year. He has a nice white smile with straight teeth; one tooth has a chip in it.
He always brings me little things from the west. This time, he gave me a soft dolly. She has pretty yellow hair and a red dress with the dots that I like- Polky dots I think?
"Wow, Bulla isn't she pretty?," mommy said.
I knew what she wanted, but I forgot the word in English.
"Domo— thank you, Mr. Montie!"
I tried real hard, mommy smiled at me. She could tell I had to think about it. My teacher says that I have a gift for languages. Mommy thinks it has something to do with the way daddy's brain is wired, but daddy says that I get it from grandpa—the one I never met. It's easier to remember the words when I'm in class, but I get sweaty and hot when I'm in front of people.
Mr. Montie walks with a shiny black Cane. It has a silver animal head for a handle.
"I like your fox," I said.
"Thank you my dear, but it's actually Canis Lupis," Montie said.
He talks like the people on television, the ones roping baby cows and riding long-legged horses.
"Can-us Loop-es?"
"It's a big ole wolf. That's the scientific name for wolf."
"Oh, I get it."
Not really.
"How old are you now, sweetie pie?"
"Six. How old are you?"
"Bulla—"
"Mrs. Briefs, it's fine," he said turning to momma.
Mom's upset. I see it in her eyes.
"I'm at the ripe age of sixty-six. I'm eleven times older than you."
"Wow!"
"Yeah, wow is right. I knew Dr. Briefs before your mother was born! How bout them apples?"
"Apples?"
"It's just an expression from Texas."
"Oh… is that why you walk funny, cause your sixty-six?"
"Bulla!"
No doubt about it now. She is mad, although Mr. Montie laughed at me. Sometimes momma fusses with Trunks and daddy, telling them that they're too rough, but she grabbed my arm and squeezed it.
"What, momma?"
I don't get it.
"Please apologize to Mr. Montiseur."
"How come?"
"Your question was disrespectful."
"Huh?"
"I want you to wait with your father. We'll talk about it later."
I hope I didn't hurt his feelings; I didn't mean to. I just thought he was like our kitty, Blue Bell. She limps a little because she has a gimpy leg, that's all, but she's still good. Just cause something's different doesn't make it bad, I think. Mommy tells me that I shouldn't stare at people either. Blue Bell's not bad, she's just interesting to watch, like daddy and Trunks when they practice. I was just curious. I didn't mean to make anyone mad.
Daddy is in the backyard training in his room. Mommy tells me the its real name all the time, but I just call it 'the dome'. Maybe I can use wait inside with Trunks instead and play cards. He cheats though. I better not. Daddy'll find out later that momma told me to go find him. I love going inside the dome, but only when I can go in by myself. Daddy and Trunks make it stink like sweat. I like it when it's quiet, really really quiet, and I can climb to the loft upstairs. It used to be daddy's room before I was born. I like the glass ceiling, especially when the stars are out. It's my favorite hidey-hole. There's another really good one at auntie Chi-Chi and uncle Goku's house. If I'm really careful, I can climb onto the top of their tool shed, then I can crawl right on top of their capsule house cause it's round and soft, kind of like a sticky rice ball.
I hate when momma finds me up there in the loft. If she's looking it means I've lost track of time. She asks me over and over again if I'm okay. She gives me a scary red smile. It makes her eyes look super blue. Her voice makes my tummy hurt. It's too sweet, like eating too many chocolate covered strawberries. I just get tired sometimes; I like being alone every now and then. School and the weekend gets all smushed together. It makes my head hurt less when I go in the dome.
Daddy's been in there a long time. I can tell. The dome makes the ground shake. My legs are buzzing, and it makes them feel like a big bowl of my favorite green jello. It's weird seeing the door without my step sitting next to it. It was just an old wooden crate that grandpa Briefs gave me. He gets one every week full of yellow milk and smelly cheeses. Monaka brings them all the way from outer space. I love the way the crate smells. It smells like cold rain falling on old crumbly leaves-the kind that crunch beneath your shoes.
I put the crate there, so I could reach the speaker button. Daddy said I didn't need it, since I can fly now. I painted the crate and left it there anyway. I think he changed his mind, cause he didn't move it. Mommy told me to paint it pink, like the same color as bubble gum. I painted it green to match the dome's door. I'm too tall for it now. I can reach the button, but I have to stretch up tall on my toes. It's making my arm hurt.
"What?," the speaker said.
"Daddy, it's me."
I hear footsteps. The door opens; it's loud and creaky. The air inside is hot and sticky.
"Eschalot, what is the meaning of this?"
"I came at a bad time, right in the middle of something I think. He's glowing again. His eyes are somewhere between green and blue. The static in the air makes my skin itch.
"Mommy told me to stay with you until Mr. Montie leaves."
"And why is that?"
"I got in trouble."
"I figured."
"I didn't mean to daddy. I swear."
"Mean to do what?"
"Be dis-disrespectable."
"Disrespectful. Tell me, what have you done?"
"Um—"
"Look at me, Eschalot. Your shoes aren't that interesting."
I really shouldn't. It'll hurt his feelings, if I stare.
"Bulla, look at me."
"Even on his fingers, his skin is coarse. It's not like mommy's. They scratch my chin as he tilts my face. He's quiet now, waiting on me.
"Mommy told me not to stare at people. It hurts their feelings. I just didn't want to hurt yours. I like when you change your colors. I asked Mr. Montie why he walks funny. Now I'm in trouble."
"I see."
Daddy's quiet most of the time, but this is a special quiet. His lips look sad.
"Daddy, I didn't mean to hurt your—"
"Eschalot…"
I better hush up.
"You've done no such thing," he said.
His hand left my chin.
"Can I come in then?"
"You're forgetting something."
"What?"
"It's seventy-five times Earth's gravity inside. Think about it."
"I forgot to say please?"
"No! Power up. You'll be crushed if you don't!"
"Oh yeah."
"Oh yeah, my a—butt. Silly child… a six-year-old with a death wish."
I just have to go yellow too. I guess.
"That's better, Eschalot. Come in."
"Daddy, wait!"
"Kami, what now?"
"My dolly—she'll be crushed. She can't go in."
"Give it to me."
"Her…"
"Fine. Give her to me."
"Daddy, please don't burn her up like Bendy."
"I had no intention of grilling that doll. Blame your mother. Bendy is a noisy nuisance, anyway."
"What'er doing to her then?"
"Don't fret, Eschalot… there."
"My dolly is hot to the touch, like daddy's skin. I can feel his hand print on her dress. He didn't burn her. I knew he wouldn't, but I just had to check anyway. He crossed his arms. I see the whites of his eyes when he looked up at the ceiling. He does it to mom and Trunks all the time and sometimes me.
"Daddy, you messed up her hair!"
"No," daddy said.
He combed his fingers through my doll's hair. It stood up like she had put her finger in a power socket.
"I just made her like us, Bulla."
"Oh!"
"No more foolishness. Get in here."
I walked past daddy's leg.
"Be sure to close that door," he said and walked away.
I forget about the door sometimes; I closed it. My favorite part of going upstairs is the metal ladder—the one sticking out of the wall. It's shiny and cold on my fingers. It's better than a cold drink when it's summer and the sun goes high in the sky. The climb is long, but I don't mind. I get dizzy sometimes when I look down. One time, my foot slipped and I fell off before I could fly. I'm not sure if he heard me hit the ground or if he heard me. I cried, but I wasn't hurt. He rushed in and made sure my bones were okay. Then he yelled at me, the kind when his voice cracks and he huffs for air. I had to promise I wouldn't go up here again alone, until I could fly without him or Trunks.
"Bulla!"
I jumped at his snappy voice.
"Huh?"
"Two drills with me before you twiddle your thumbs up there."
"I know daddy. I was gonna put Gilda away."
"Gilda?"
"My dolly."
"Just do it quickly but…"
I can't hear him. I have to turn around.
"Do what?"
"Both hands on the rail!"
"Oh, sorry."
"Be mindful of what you're doing," he said; his voice was weird and flat.
"Daddy?"
"What now?"
"Did you put my ponies in my box?"
"Yes, yes Eschalot. I put the damn plastic contraptions in your crate. I stepped on one. Be grateful I didn't blast them. I won't be so lenient next time. It's a kindness I allowed it in the first place, girl."
"Like Bendy?"
He didn't say anything else. Maybe he can't hear me. I crawled into the loft. My crate is tucked in the corner beneath daddy's old bed. My Bendy doll is in his spot in the crate. His arm is held to his body with black tape, his plastic suite is melted a little. His smile is crooked and bubbled. I lost his tiny suitcase. He looks different now, but he's still my favorite because of the noises he makes. My yellow pony, Gold dust, isn't in his spot. He's lying on his side near the bottom of the box. His leg is taped up with white, paper tape. He's wobbly now but it'll do.
Mommy laughs at me when I talk about daddy fussing at me to put things back in the crate before we leave the dome. Mommy's eyes get kind of wet, but she always smiles at me. She laughs in a snorty way, kind of from her nose when she finally sees daddy. He just grunts and walks away, like mommy didn't say anything at all. I think I know what it is: they still must not like that I painted it green.