CHAPTER EIGHT - THE CRAYON
"Mom would have a fit if she knew you were in here." Her crayon never went outside the lines.
"Do you want me to leave?" He was lying on his back. Facing the ceiling. Something like a dull ache. Was eating his chest.
"No." She said. Dropping the red crayon. Picking up the green one. She flipped the paper around. Her tongue coming out. From between her lips. Helping her color.
"Have you ever been to a doctor before?" Agatha asked. Head tilted.
"No, does it hurt?" His eyes went to the girl's back. She sighed. But didn't look at him.
"Sometimes. Depends on what they do..."
"I don't want it to hurt."
Agatha sat up. Turning around. Before coming towards him. She crawled up onto the bed. On her hands and knees. Over his head. Looking at him. "I won't let it. I promise."
His mouth twitched. She squinted. Then leaned in close. Looking hard.
"You have two different colored eyes." She said.
"I do?"
"Uh huh, this one's darker." She pointed to his left one. With the tip of her crayon. "That comes from inbreeding, you know."
"What's "inbreeding"?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. But I bet it's bad." She backed off. And sat on the other side of the bed. Facing the wall now.
There was silence for a moment.
"Do you get mad?"
"About what?"
"About not remembering things." She turned back to him. And he turned over. Onto his belly.
"Sometimes."
"How come you don't express it?"
"I don't know how."
"You could stomp your foot, or yell, or something." She looked to her crayon. "When I was little, I use to try and color on things, but look," she reached out. And touched the tip to his arm. It made a negative sound. And made no streak. "It doesn't work on anything but paper."
"Does that make you mad?"
"Yeah, sometimes I really want to draw all over everything."
"Why?"
"To make the world prettier." She sighed. Sadly. And looked out the window. "To make me feel better."
"Are you sick?" He got up. Came around. And sat down next to her. That pain. Fading slightly. When he was near her.
"No," she looked at him. "It's not like that."
"What's it like then?"
"It's like...I feel sad inside and I don't know why." She reached out. And took his arm. Leaning against him. "But I don't feel sad when you're here, you make me feel good."
He looked down at her. And after a moment. She looked up. "Do I make you feel good?"
"You make my heart stop hurting." He said. Slowly. And she frowned at him. Her little eyebrows furrowing.
"Is it cause of your wound?" She asked. Knowing it had never been covered.
"No, it hurts deeper."
"When does your heart hurt?"
"All the time..."
"That's not good Catcher," she reached up. And put her hand against his chest. "You should watch that."
"Mom would have a fit if she knew you were in here." Her crayon never went outside the lines.
"Do you want me to leave?" He was lying on his back. Facing the ceiling. Something like a dull ache. Was eating his chest.
"No." She said. Dropping the red crayon. Picking up the green one. She flipped the paper around. Her tongue coming out. From between her lips. Helping her color.
"Have you ever been to a doctor before?" Agatha asked. Head tilted.
"No, does it hurt?" His eyes went to the girl's back. She sighed. But didn't look at him.
"Sometimes. Depends on what they do..."
"I don't want it to hurt."
Agatha sat up. Turning around. Before coming towards him. She crawled up onto the bed. On her hands and knees. Over his head. Looking at him. "I won't let it. I promise."
His mouth twitched. She squinted. Then leaned in close. Looking hard.
"You have two different colored eyes." She said.
"I do?"
"Uh huh, this one's darker." She pointed to his left one. With the tip of her crayon. "That comes from inbreeding, you know."
"What's "inbreeding"?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. But I bet it's bad." She backed off. And sat on the other side of the bed. Facing the wall now.
There was silence for a moment.
"Do you get mad?"
"About what?"
"About not remembering things." She turned back to him. And he turned over. Onto his belly.
"Sometimes."
"How come you don't express it?"
"I don't know how."
"You could stomp your foot, or yell, or something." She looked to her crayon. "When I was little, I use to try and color on things, but look," she reached out. And touched the tip to his arm. It made a negative sound. And made no streak. "It doesn't work on anything but paper."
"Does that make you mad?"
"Yeah, sometimes I really want to draw all over everything."
"Why?"
"To make the world prettier." She sighed. Sadly. And looked out the window. "To make me feel better."
"Are you sick?" He got up. Came around. And sat down next to her. That pain. Fading slightly. When he was near her.
"No," she looked at him. "It's not like that."
"What's it like then?"
"It's like...I feel sad inside and I don't know why." She reached out. And took his arm. Leaning against him. "But I don't feel sad when you're here, you make me feel good."
He looked down at her. And after a moment. She looked up. "Do I make you feel good?"
"You make my heart stop hurting." He said. Slowly. And she frowned at him. Her little eyebrows furrowing.
"Is it cause of your wound?" She asked. Knowing it had never been covered.
"No, it hurts deeper."
"When does your heart hurt?"
"All the time..."
"That's not good Catcher," she reached up. And put her hand against his chest. "You should watch that."