It was a sunny, lovely day. I was waiting for Philip to arrive to our spot under the tree. When he did, he seemed upset, considering he was grunting with every step that he took until he sat down.

"Good day, Theo," he said flatly.

"Philip," I replied. "Are you alright?"

He shook his head. "Do people really think I cannot hear them when they mock my father as I pass them?"

"Is that still happening?" Sadly, it was a common occurrence.

"It hasn't stopped."

"I'm so sorry, Philip. I wish they could understand it's none of their business."

"I hate that my mother's name is on everyone's lips."

I looked at him as he fiddled with the grass around him. That anger that was contained inside of him was one that would have to demise gradually, but it would require a lot of patience from him.

As if he had read my mind, he asked me:

"What do you do when you're angry about something?"

"Me?" he nodded. "Not much. When I'm home, I go somewhere I can be alone, I guess. I stare at a window. I look at the sky. Sometimes, I try to find shapes in the clouds."

He raised his eyebrows, playfully. "Do you?"

"I do," I chuckled. "I try to focus on how their edges change and how their shape shifts. It gives me something else to think about."

"I see," he turned his head upward, focused. "For instance, that one over there," he pointed towards a cloud in the sky. "It looks like a spoon, doesn't it? Am I doing this right?"

I looked at him and nodded.

We spent the rest of the day pointing at clouds and thinking of objects that resembled them.