"Mommy and daddy are going far away tonight," they murmur in sweet, friendly voices.
Timmy's mom kisses him on his forehead, and Timmy's dad dutifully checks under the bed for monsters or other unpleasant things. In the morning, the big house is empty.
Timmy is used to that, so he escapes the house's hollow shell to sit on the steps. Some might say that Timmy lives in a mansion, but he's explored every nook and cranny a thousand times. Finding a spider is a treat, and there's more of them outside. It is there--where Timmy looks up into the clouded sky and imagines his parents flying by--that his dark eyes see the flying person.
Right away, he knows something is amiss. After all, Timmy's a smart boy. He knows all about things like Physics and gravity. He also knows that people cannot take to the air without the help of machinery.
He stands up almost instinctively and says, "hey you, stop that!" even though he knows the stranger is too far away to hear a small, humble voice from the ground.
Yet the flying person does stop, coming to a hover--a distinguishable speck--and then changing course. He lands in the lawn with a pretty big crash.
"Oh man, oh man, oh man," starts the stranger, looking worried as if damaging the lawn or toppling the flower-pots was a very bad thing to do. "You weren't supposed to see me. Nobody's supposed to see me. I'll get in trouble!"
Timmy crosses his arms and gives the other a disapproving stare. "Then you shouldn't be flying around like that. Don't you know that people can't fly? It's a rule!"
The other boy is taller than Timmy, but not by much. He turns around, and with very blue eyes glaring back, he snaps, "maybe you weren't supposed to see me. What are you doing, shouting at me like that?"
"Just so you know, I'm good at seeing things." Timmy defends, making a sound and rolling his eyes to justify his case. He repeats, "and you're not supposed to be doing that, so it's your own fault!"
The odd, flying boy drags his eyes heavenward and is probably already deciding that he doesn't like Timmy, the laws of physics, or being here. He'll probably leave, too. Far away. Just like everyone else. And boldly, without a plane or a helicopter. "Yeah, well, people-rules don't apply to me. I'm not really a real person."
"Yeah?" Timmy tightens the fold of his arms. "And what does that make you then? An imaginary person?"
Timmy's too old to have imaginary friends. His dad said so, once.
The other boy is looking over his shoulder, surveying the sky as if it were about to tell on him. "If it gets me out of trouble, then sure. I'll be whatever you want."
Despite himself, Timmy finds himself pausing at that. His brows frown deeply. "So...you want to stay?"
The boy gives him an indiscernible look, and then mutters, "you'll probably tell on me if I leave, right?"
"Maybe I will," Timmy considers, not really sure who he'll tattle to. The threat is there, but Timmy's smart enough to know that it doesn't truly matter. Nobody believes in flying people.
The stranger looks slightly hesitant, as if he doesn't trust himself enough to call Timmy's bluff. Perhaps he's running away from something, too. Stalling. "Maybe I'll stay for a little bit, then?"
Timmy will take that. He shrugs and says, "I have some games. Mom and dad buy them for me when they go places."
A small pause, before the strange flying boy copies the shrug. "Yeah, that sounds fine. Will it be okay with your parents?"
Timmy smiles, quite pleased with himself. "Don't worry. They don't believe in flying people, so nobody will mind if you're here."
As the two go inside the very big house, Timmy thinks that his mom, at least, might mind the lawn. Maybe he'll tell the flying boy to come back again to fix it.
That's a threat he might bank on. Flying boy or not, Timmy knows they won't get through half of the games in one visit.