"Do you think Annie will be
mad that we left her behind?" Jack asked as the group headed
back toward the bus with their Styrofoamed breakfast to-go
packages in hand.
"Well, it's not like we didn't bring her something,
too," Clu pointed out.
"And she was up pretty late talking to herself," added
Fi. "I worry about her sometimes."
Just then, Annie ran to meet them and threw her arms around Jack,
which mystified everyone else. "Um... hi?"
"Jack! I have to talk to you!" she exclaimed,
widening her eyes and smiling brightly. She grabbed him by
the arm and led him away from the group. She produced a
small, wadded-up piece of paper and thrust it into his free hand.
"I found it!"
He stared at the piece of paper and sighed. Another strange
little non-mystery, no doubt. Like human bees, or magnetic
high school students. "Okay, I give up. What is
it, a magic piece of paper?"
She looked at him with an expression of genuine befuddlement.
"Well, don't you know what it is?" Then,
quieter: "I know he wouldn't steer me wrong! It
has to be Jack!"
"I'm standing right here. What has to be Jack?"
"The poem. That you wrote for me. I found it
while you all were gone. Where'd you go, anyway?"
"Breakfast. But I didn't write you any poem, Annie.
I'm not a writer." He unfolded the piece of
paper and read.
but way back
where I come from, we never mean to bother,
we don't like to make our passions other people's concern.
we walk in the world of safe people,
and at night we walk into our houses and burn.
"You didn't
write that?" she interrupted.
"No, I'm sorry, but I didn't." Her face fell.
He regretted not being more sensitive and put an arm around
her. "I do like you. I just don't, you know...
not like this."
"It's okay," she said, suddenly brightening.
"But if you didn't write it, then who did?"
"Well, I don't think it's any of our business, really.
We should probably just put it back where you found it and
let whoever did write it deal with it as they intended to
originally."
She frowned. "Don't you want to solve the
mystery?"
"NO." She laughed at his vehemence and scampered
toward the bus to collect her breakfast, leaving him holding the
paper. He re-read the second stanza. "We don't
like to make our passions other people's concern... so whoever
wrote it doesn't want anyone to know about their feelings
for this other person." He stood there for a moment,
considering the possibilities. He smiled.
"It's got to be Clu. I knew it!" He ran to catch up with the others with an uncharacteristic lightness.
