Look Over Here
"Scaramouche, look over here!" he cried excitedly, "I have something to show you!"
"What is it now?" I groaned, not even bothering to sit up on my bed to look at him. I loved Galileo, I really did, but sometimes –alright a lot of the time- he was like a little kid. He got excited over the littlest things, a colorful rock, a butterfly, even an old-fashioned pencil! It was endearing, the way his brown eyes sparkled and his smile spread across his whole face, but it was also…irritating. To his disappointment, colorful rocks just didn't get a rise out of me. It had got even worse though since we started living at the Heartbreak Hotel. I mean, he was finding things like guitar picks and magazine clippings now! Jaysus, help me.
"Really Scaramouche, you should see this!" he insisted.
"Figgy, remember that story about the boy who cried Online-Predator?" I asked.
"Of course," he answered, "But what does that…"
"He's you," I interrupted, sitting up, "Except instead of 'Online-Predator', you cry 'shiny object'! Please Galileo, I'm tired and I'm trying to rest. Is this really that important?" I arched my eyebrows at him.
"Well…no…" he answered quietly, hanging his head, "I…I just thought you would maybe like to see this?" He looked positively crushed. I couldn't help but feel guilty.
"Oh, get over here," I sighed, "What's your latest discovery?"
"It's not important, remember? I don't want to bother you," he answered back, sounding injured.
"Stop being silly…of course it won't bother me," I replied, the corners of my mouth turning up a little, "Now come here and show me!"
"You really want to see?" his face lit up hopefully.
"Mmhmm," I moved over a little to make room for him on my bed, "Come sit."
He clambered on, clutching a small object, "This, I think, used to be called a Switch Army Knife!" He proceeded to thrust the small red knife towards me.
"Lovely," I nodded. He then babbled a bunch of mumbo-jumbo nonsense about its uses in history, and even demonstrated some of them, which I only half-paid attention to.
"You try now!" he declared finally.
I wrinkled my nose.
"Scaramouche," it was his turn to raise his eyebrows at me, "Try it." He grabbed hold of my right hand, placed the knife in it, and closed my fingers around it tightly.
"Ouch!" I cried, dropping it.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his brows knitted in concern.
I sucked my index finger, "I cut my finger, is all. Nothing to worry about."
After a pause, he ventured, "Can I have a look?"
I showed him my bleeding finger…it was a superficial cut though. It looked worse than it was. Nonetheless, Galileo, also known as Braveheart, shuddered at the sight of the blood.
He held my hand gingerly, trying to avoid touching the cut finger, "I think people used to have a sort of ritual about these sorts of things."
"Did they now?" I asked.
He nodded, now looking straight into my eyes instead of at my hand, "They used to kiss them…to make the booboo better? Is that right?"
"Sounds right to me," I shrugged with a smile.
He leaned forward bashfully and planted a soft kiss on my lips. He pulled back, but only a few inches, staying close enough so that the ends of his overgrown bangs were brushing against my forehead.
"Is the booboo better?"
"Much better," I answered, for once not bothering to correct him.