14

Mr. Grasshopper slept quite a bit over the next few days, and at first he could barely move or even speak English. Mr. Centipede learned quickly to speak the basic clicking language that all bugs knew whenever Mr. Grasshopper struggled to understand him. The others followed suit, except for James, who was physically unable to speak an inhuman language.

Every morning and evening, Mrs. Ladybug would check his wound and Miss Spider would weave him bandages. Mr. Centipede took care of whatever he needed, and Mr. Earthworm and Glowworm kept him company, one during the daylight hours, and the other at night. James, of course, was so kind and thoughtful and came home with a book that Mr. Grasshopper had wanted to buy to keep him occupied once he was able to read again.

When Mr. Grasshopper was finally able to sit up and move around, he felt thoroughly embarrassed by all of the attention, but he'd never appreciated his wonderful family more. He loved them all dearly for their kindness to him. They didn't talk about what had happened except to apologize for not interfering. Nobody laughed at his weakness, and he'd been glad to be over it. He thought fondly that it would never happen again. Until he had another vivid nightmare.

Mr. Centipede was roused from the sofa by a strange rasping noise. Puzzled, he stood up and hurried toward it. James peeked his head out of his room and looked worried.

"He's in the bathroom again," he said softly.

Mr. Centipede got there to find Mr. Grasshopper heaving into the toilet. "Jimmy, get a glass of water," he called then waited until Mr. Grasshopper finally stopped heaving.

"You okay, Grasshopper?" Mr. Centipede asked, kneeling down.

"Sorry," Mr. Grasshopper whispered hoarsely.

"Up we go," Mr. Centipede encouraged, wrapping several of his left arms around Mr. Grasshopper's side.

After Mr. Grasshopper was back in his hammock, he shivered. James hurried in with water, which Mr. Centipede held up to help Mr. Grasshopper drink.

"Are you okay?" James asked.

"I'll be fine," Mr. Grasshopper muttered.

"That ain't what he asked," Mr. Centipede said. "What's wrong, Grasshopper?"

"It was just a nightmare," Mr. Grasshopper said.

"Oh." James thought for a moment. "Do you throw up when you have nightmares?"

"It's a defense mechanism, Jimmy," Mr. Centipede said when Mr. Grasshopper turned his face away, too ashamed to answer. "It's triggered by fear. Makes other insects not want to eat him."

"I see. Is that what kept happening on the tour?"

"Yes, James," Mr. Grasshopper said tightly.

"You gonna be okay, leaf-muncher?" Mr. Centipede asked, nudging him.

"Do you think it would be objectionable if I sit in the living room for awhile?" Mr. Grasshopper asked a bit shyly. "I can understand if you're busy."

"Course you can! Jimmy, help me get him comfortable."

Ten minutes later, Mr. Grasshopper was settled on the sofa in the living room, wrapped in a blanket with the book James had bought beside him. He murmured his thanks then rested for a while to get his strength back. Mr. Centipede made sure he was comfortable then stood back.

"Hungry, Jimmy?" he asked.

"Oh, yes please. I need to eat before my boxing practice."

"You're going?" Mr. Grasshopper asked.

"I said I'd take him," Mr. Centipede said. "I gotta see him in action!"

James grinned, but Mr. Grasshopper squinted. "Everybody knows about this?"

"Yep."

"And they approve?"

"Yep."

Mr. Grasshopper relaxed a bit and smiled. "Very good."

Mr. Centipede nodded and tipped his hat back as he headed into the kitchen to make food. He assembled sandwiches for himself and James then made a salad for Mr. Grasshopper, who still struggled to eat much human food. As he finished the dishes, a long, low note resounded from the living room. Mr. Centipede perked and turned to peer across the house. Mr. Grasshopper had his violin out, and he was carefully tuning it. His heart leaped in his chest, and he crept over to the doorway to listen.

"Anything in particular, my dear boy?" Mr. Grasshopper asked, smiling at James.

"Whatever you feel like playing," James replied, sitting down to listen.

"Hm. What do I feel like playing?" Mr. Grasshopper mumbled.

He drew the bow across the strings, played a scale, then paused before beginning with a crisp note. Mr. Centipede leaned against the doorframe and listened carefully to a rather unusual harmony. It was high and low, fast and slow, but he knew what Mr. Grasshopper was feeling now. The base was low and sad, but there was a discordant note that kept returning, just off enough to be noticeable. Something was bothering him.

When Mr. Grasshopper finally stopped, James clapped, and Mr. Centipede retrieved the sandwiches and salad. Mr. Grasshopper took the salad, a question in his eyes. Mr. Centipede grinned.

"What can I say, leaf-muncher? You made me feel again."

"Oh?" Mr. Grasshopper looked pleased and plucked up a slice of tomato. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Yeah." They ate for a couple minutes before Mr. Centipede spoke again. "Is there something on your mind?"

Mr. Grasshopper swallowed. "Oh, nothing."

"Liar."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to you. So what's up?"

Mr. Grasshopper nibbled on a piece of lettuce. "I don't know how to thank everybody for the kindness you've shown me."

"Aw, don't worry about that, Grasshopper," Mr. Centipede said softly. "It's only fair after what happened."

"Still, I want to express my gratitude. I just don't know how."

"What about your music?"

Mr. Grasshopper squirmed a little. "I don't know if that would be welcome."

Mr. Centipede laughed. "I can assure you it is," he said, mocking Mr. Grasshopper's posh accent.

"Git," Mr. Grasshopper said primly.

There was a pause then all three of them started laughing. They finished their meal, and Mr. Grasshopper stared at his violin, rubbing his fingers up and down the strings.

"You honestly think my music would be welcome?" Mr. Grasshopper asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Mr. Centipede carried the plates into the kitchen then came back.

"After my behavior, it might be inappropriate to push this on the others."

Mr. Centipede let out a barking laugh and clutched his middle. "Oh, pish posh," he mocked. "That's codswallop, my good grasshopper!"

"Is it?"

Mr. Centipede forced himself to stop laughing, hearing the unsure note in Mr. Grasshopper's tone. "Course it is. We love your music, Grasshopper. And it's an honor to hear it."

Mr. Grasshopper considered this. "I'll think about it," he finally said, but he slipped his violin back into its case.

James quickly gathered what he needed for boxing practice, and Mr. Centipede got Mr. Grasshopper comfortable.

"You're sure you wanna stay out here?"

"If I need to, I think I can make it to my room," Mr. Grasshopper said.

"Call for Glowworm if you need her," Mr. Centipede said.

Mr. Grasshopper nodded. "I will."

"Ready, Jimmy?" Mr. Centipede asked.

"I am," James said.

"You know where we're going?"

"I do."

"Then let's go!" The cephalopod opened the front door. "See you in a couple hours."

Mr. Grasshopper waved them off, and the door closed behind them. The insect relaxed and stretched out gingerly, his right hands coming up to cradle his wounded side. He was healing well. The leathery growth was regrowing, and he was fervently grateful that the damage wasn't permanent. Then his thoughts turned toward his family.

He wanted them to understand, but could he share that part of himself again? He tapped his thigh then reached under his violin case for his music folder. He opened it and pulled out a lined sheet and a pencil. Tapping the page, he thought for several moments then began to write. He wasn't sure he would actually play this for the family, but inspiration had struck and he had nothing else to do. At least once it was done, he'd have a better idea of whether or not he would share it. Hopefully, the courage would be there when he needed it.