John Dory knew three things with the utmost certainty to be true. The first being that he, without a doubt, was not named after a fish.
He was, however, named after his grandfather. Both of his grandfathers, actually; mom's dad John, and dad's dad Dory. He was proud of his name, and liked to hear people use it, in full, instead of just calling him "JD," the nickname his peers had ostentatiously labeled him with.
Oh, that made four things he knew, didn't it?
Because John Dory also knew that he liked the word "ostentatious." Dad had taught it to him after the young Troll had routinely declared himself the world's greatest pillow fort maker.
The third thing John Dory knew was that his favorite color was green, and not just because his hair had begun to shade that way after losing its baby luster. While, simultaneously, and quite to the contrary, being his favorite color because of the fact that his hair had started to come in green. It felt, to the boy, like a sign that he was growing up each and every time he caught sight of his verdant locks in the mirror.
So, naturally, he had become fond of the hue.
But, the fourth, and most important thing that John Dory knew in his heart of hearts was that today was the day. The day he finally got everything he'd ever wanted. It was a magical day, a wonderful day, it the day the boy would become the one thing he'd always hoped to be; a big brother.
Sitting in the living room scarely able to contain his excitement the youngster rocked back and forth with an energy too overwhelming to keep inside.
"Happy birfday baby!" he sang, bobbing to a beat he heard in his heart, and belting out lyrics as they came to him. "Happy birfday yeah! I want to see you baby. I want to see you now! I am your big brother, I want to meet you now! Happy birfday baby, I will take care of you I-" he stopped short.
There was a rhyme for this, John Dory knew it, he just couldn't quite think of it. Dad would know, dad always knew all the really good and clever words. Dad loved words, and wrote scrapbooks devoted to defining and comparing them, a seemingly endless task that not many Trolls seemed to appreciate. Dad called it one of his "little eccentricities," similar to mom's "gray episodes," when she got really sleepy and liked to stay in bed.
How did the grownups make singing look so easy? he wondered then.
Brow furrowed with thought the little boy struggled in vain to pluck the perfect cord from the air. He briefly contemplated getting one of the many handwritten tomes off the shelf to aid in his endeavor, but stayed where he was, still swinging his legs. It wouldn't do him any good, he realized, he didn't know how to read. So, he sat, bouncing in his seat, wracking his brain for the word that would complete his song.
Maybe this was his eccentricity, not finding good words for songs? he wondered, relishing with love all that made his parents who they were.
Then again, what if there was something wrong with him because he couldn't do it? It was a spontaneous thought, but in that moment it was a thought that lanced him through the heart with a tangible sense of dread, as inadequacy and doubt settled around his young shoulders.
What if he was broken? He worried with dismay.
What if, what if he was too broken to be a good big brother? Tears flooded John Dory's eyes at the notion, one which left him with a particularly bitter taste on his tongue.
It just didn't seem fair, especially after he'd been working so hard, and for what seemed like ages to prove himself. He'd been absolutely diligent in his chores ever since mom's belly had gotten small again, and she'd shown him the delicate egg nestled safely within the folds of her hair.
The revelation of what the egg ment had spurred the young Troll to an astounding, yet haphazard display of grown-up independence. From making his own bed, to dressing himself, potty training, and even eating most of his vegetables, the little boy strove every day to demonstrate his maturity, and clear aptitude for the job of big brother-ing.
All, much to his parents' loving amusement.
Now, now John Dory felt like in spite of all his tremendous efforts, that he just wasn't good enough. It wasn't fair. This was all he'd ever wanted, and he didn't make the cut.
Melancholy overwhelmed him for several long minutes as muted tears trailed solemnly down his cheeks. Before grief and failure could consume him entirely however, the embers of the fiery determination that dwelt within his soul rekindled and ignited into a roaring flame.
No, he was John Dory, he had his grandpa's names, his hair was coming in green, he knew how to use the potty, and he was going to be the best big brother the world had ever seen!
Sliding out of his seat the boy bounced on the balls of his feet to the rhythm playing in his heart.
"Happy birfday baby!" he sang, loud, strong and full of emotion as he danced. "Happy birfday yeah! I want to see you baby. I want to see you now! I am your big brother, I want to meet you now! Happy birfday baby, I will take care of you I- I-"
He stopped, the tears returning to his eyes, when he heard dad's voice from behind him, "Vow?"
Dad stood, leaning against the doorframe, a fond smile spread across his face as he gazed at his son. "Its a noun, it means a solemn promise, pledge, or personal commitment."
An excited sense of relief, love, and pure joy exploded within the little boy's heart. Letting out a squeal of jubilee John Dory raced straight into his father's awaiting arms. Hugging him tightly around the neck the young Troll didn't even try to contain himself anymore.
"You fixed it!" he shrieked gleefully. "You fixed my song present for the baby!"
Through their embrace the boy felt the low baritone rumble of his father's laughter. "And, it would appear, just in time."
John Dory pulled away to look his father in the face, the man's cerulean eyes sparkled with merriment and affection.
"My baby's here?" John Dory breathed a hopeful, prayer like whisper.
Dad laughed again, "Yes, your baby, has certainly arrived. Would you like to meet him?"
"Its a boy? Just like I wanted?" John Dory wailed with exuberance, kicking his feet to get down and run straight into the bedroom.
Dad laughed again as he held the boy secure, "Yes, just like you wanted." he assured before a thoughtful expression crossed his face. "Do you remember the talk we had, that babies need a lot of rest and a lot of quiet so they can get that rest?"
Big brother John Dory nodded with confidence and enthusiasm.
"So you can sing your present song, but we can't stay in there for too long." he explained.
"Ok." The little boy agreed. This time, before dad could walk back towards the bedroom it was John Dory's turn to become contemplative. "Dad, is mama still gray?"
Dad's smile faltered. "A little." he responded with the tender gentleness he reserved only for when he was talking about mom.
"We should pick her flowers, and make pancakes for dinner. Pancakes are her favorite." the boy concluded with a type of finality that could not be questioned. "I'm big now, I can help."
Dad smiled a sad smile, tears coming to his eyes. "You're a good son John Dory," he mumured kissing the little boy on the forehead, "And I know you're going to be the best big brother too."
At this plain spoken confirmation of everything he'd been aspiring towards, from the one person in the world it meant the most to hear say it, John Dory became dizzy with joy.
"Now, let's go meet your baby." Dad beamed, carrying his first born son in to meet his second.
Inside the bedroom everything was dark and still. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness John Dory could start to make out the familiar objects scattered around him. The closet, a twin set of dressers, the nightstand, a few of his toys tucked into one corner, the new bassinet, and the bed.
He smiled when he saw mom lying on her side in bed, humming softly to the tiny bundle nestled sweetly near her belly. The little boy was choked by his own overwhelming happiness as they drew nearer, and he found that he was suddenly very nervous too. Dad set him down on the bed, where he swallowed past the lump in his throat, and looked up towards mom for assurance.
Smiling warmly she nodded her assent.
Crawling over the pillows and blankets John Dory peered down at the little scrunched face wrapped in blankets. His brother was impossibly small, he thought, and soft looking. Gingerly the boy stroked his silky, newborn, purple hair.
"Happy birfday baby!" he sang in a whisper that wavered with his tearful sense of pride and love. "Happy birfday, yeah! I get to see you baby. I get to see you now! I am your big brother, I want to hold you now! Happy birfday baby, I will take care of you I vow."
"Oh, my baby boy, that was beautiful!" mom whispered, reaching across to stroke his cheek.
"It was my song present for the baby. Dad helped." John Dory said with the plain honesty and innocence that comes so naturally to children his age.
"Marginally!" Dad argued, nudging him with the back of his hand. "The addition of a single syllabled word hardly constitutes one a songwrite!"
"Can I hold him?" John Dory asked, not quite listening to dad, his eyes locked on the sweet little face that hung like a golden bell in his heart.
"Not just yet." mom said gently. "But soon, he's still too small."
"What's his name?" the boy asked.
"Spruce." mom whispered trailing a finger down the newborn's petite nose.
"Spruce." John Dory whispered, trying the name out for himself.
"Its a type of tree, common in the part of the forest where your mom and I grew up." Dad explained, coming to put a hand on his shoulder.
"I like it." the big brother smiled with approval.
"I'm glad." mom said in a drowsy tone.
"Come on, let's give mom and Spruce some time to rest now." Dad said, the hand on John Dory's shoulder pulling him slightly aback.
"No, it's alright." Mom said, her voice still soft as she pat the bed, but her eyes were suddenly bright and alert. "Lay down next to your brother, sweetheart. I want to spend some time with my boys. Don't you, daddy?"
John Dory looked back to his father who hesitated only a moment, his shoulders drawn up with a kind of tension before he seemed to relax, and let out a sigh. "I sure do." he agreed climbing into bed beside them.
Cuddled up, warm and loved between his parents John Dory cherished the moment as his mom and dad whispered in muted voices to one another, and he, and his new baby brother seemed to have the whole world to just themselves.
"I love you." he whispered, stroking the baby's hair as all the nervousness and excitement ebbed out of him and John Dory found himself yawning.
Wrapping an arm about his new baby brother he imagined all the wonderful things life had in store for the two of them as he closed his eyes.
One thing John Dory knew above everything else, was that it was going to be, perfect.
Perfection didn't come easy.
That was the first thing the newly appointed big brother learned in the days, weeks, and even months that followed baby Spruce's arrival into the family.
For one thing John Dory's nights were frequently interrupted with the sound of his brother crying, and games had to constantly be put on hold so mom or dad could tend to him, and, no matter how many windows they opened the house forever seemed to smell like dirty diapers, and spit up. Even mealtimes were affected by the new addition to the family as they now seemed to have a strange type of fluidity to their schedule.
It was enough to bring the little boy to tears of frustration, but for all the chaos and upheaval it was in the tender moments that the big brother knew he wouldn't have had it any other way.
His mornings were most often spent whispering stories, or ambitious plans for the future to little baby Spruce while their parents slept a few precious minutes more. His afternoons were passed in entertaining himself. Or, if he lucky and the baby was down for a nap, cooking or doing dishes with mom, who's color, a soft periwinkle, had come back in full. Together they always sang and danced at the sink or stove top.
He looked forward to those sunny afternoons most.
Lastly John Dory's evenings were spent reading with dad after dinner. Then, just before bed he got to kiss Spruce goodnight, where he would always promise an even better, and more fun tomorrow come morning.
As time went on and Spruce became more aware of his surroundings, and capable of interaction the more John Dory doted on him. He brought his brother toys, sang him songs, and did anything he could think of to earn a smile or a laugh from the baby. From explosive fits of fake sneezes to worming across the carpet while Spruce did tummy time, John Dory had become quite the comedian.
His antics had even won over his parents who were sure to acknowledge his efforts with praise and encouragement.
After a while John Dory had become absolutely sure that things were as perfect, as perfect could be.
That was until the day, mom's colors faded away without much warning. John Dory was used to the gray taking her appetite, her interest in playing, cooking, cleaning, everything but sleeping. What he wasn't used to, or had ever experienced before, however, was the terrible wailing and crying.
Heart racing, limbs electrified with fear the little boy waited in the living room, shaking a rattle with a hollow sense of awareness just out of reach of Spruce's grasping fingers. He could hear dad trying to talk to mom as she cried. He wondered what he was saying, and hoped that whatever it was it would fix her.
John Dory didn't know what went wrong. Mom had come into the kitchen, Spruce on one shoulder, drained of color, and moving slowly, but, she'd still said good morning. She'd still smiled, she'd still made her coffee, and had started getting cereal for John Dory when she froze at the counter, staring at the wall as the first, quiet tears began to flow. Then, mom, all too calmly put Spruce on his play mat, turned, and went back to the bedroom. That was when all the wretched crying began.
The little boy couldn't remember ever feeling so uncertain and afraid as when he first heard the terrible, heartbroken sobbing and howling that came from his parents' bedroom. Dad had been quick to react, racing in from his study to check on the boys, and assure John Dory that everything would be alright, then he went to take care of mom.
He'd been in there for a while.
Solemnly the young Troll reached with his free hand into the box of cereal he'd retrieved from kitchen and munched on the sugary, fruity flavored shapes inside. It helped ease his hunger, and passed the time, but did nothing for the fear that had settled in his heart.
"Mama's gonna be alright." he promised baby Spruce who finally got hold of the rattle and was now mouthing the toy with gleeful success. "She's just sad, I think. Dad says she has gray times, but that doesn't mean she doesn't love us, she just gets tired, and sad and needs rest. Ok?"
Spruce gurgled, blowing spit bubbles around the plastic of the rattle. John Dory looked down at him with an overwhelming rush of adoration, and laughed in spite of himself. He loved his baby, and would do anything to make things right for him, but he couldn't help worrying that this was beyond his scope of capability. Leaning forward he tickled the baby's feet, earning surprised babbles and much glee.
There, he thought, that's better.
That was when there was a knock on the pod door. His stomach squeezing with nervous indecision John Dory's eyes darted from the front door, to the hallway and back again. He wasn't allowed to answer the door, but, he didn't want to go into the bedroom and see mama crying either. The knock came again, and from somewhere in the back of his mind came the terrible idea that it was someone bad at the door. He didn't know what do, but, for Spruce, he had to do something.
Edging towards the hallway the little boy called out for his father, "Dad? Dad, there's someone at the door."
When there came no response he walked further towards the bedroom, twisting the tuft of fur at the base of his tail nervously between both hands. "Dad? There's someone at the door."
John Dory's belly ached terribly, and he felt tingly all the way into his fingers and toes as tears started to swim in his eyes, and he was once again met without acknowledgement.
"Daddy?" he called hoarsly.
Nothing.
Finally, with no other options left to him the little boy turned the doorknob and inched the panel open. In the dark, through all the gloom, John Dory could just make out mom, curled on her side under a mountain of blankets. Dad was facing her, and bent as tightly about her as he could manage, mournfully stroking the side of her tear stained face.
"I can't- I can't-" mom choked on her words. "I just can't-"
"Shh," Dad soothed, pulling in close until their foreheads were touching. "Its alright, I'm here. I'm here. I've got you."
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Mom retched like she was about to throw up. "I don't know why I'm like this. I'm so sorry!"
"No, shh, you have nothing to be sorry for. I've got you." Dad said again, hugging her tight. "I love you."
"But why?" Mom shrieked, her slowing trickle of tears becoming a torrential storm once more as she thrashed about on the bed, and dad struggled to contain her abruptly violent fit of sorrow and rage.
The fear that shot throughout him at the sight sent the little boy into a fit of hysterics all his own. He didn't understand, he was scared, mom was going to hurt dad, or herself. What was the matter with her? Why was she so sad? Why was she so angry? What was happening? What was wrong with her?
Dad seemed to have heard John Dory over all the other commotion and sat in bed casting a look of dreadful worry towards the door. "John Dory, what are- I thought I told you to sit with Spruce."
Sniffing back a sob that turned into a painfully sharp hiccup the child dug the heel of his hand into one eye in an attempt to compose himself. "I'm sorry!" he whimpered, shaking all over.
"No, no!" Dad said in a broken tone looking first to his wife, then to their son. "Oh, please no."
John Dory stood helplessly in the doorway crying in a way he'd never had reason to cry before, and he didn't think he could make it stop. He knew he had to though, the look in dad's eyes told him just as much, he had to stop, because mama couldn't stop. But he was scared! He was so scared. Taking a few gulping deep breaths the little boy, somehow, pulled himself to a mere whimper.
"There's someone at the door!" John Dory got out at last.
Dad let out a little, strangled cry, and looked, for an instant, just as afraid as John Dory felt. "I'll be right back, I promise." he said hurrying to get out of the bed.
Rushing past John Dory like a hot gust of summer wind he strode out into the living room, a worried little boy on his heels. Racing to the front door he thrust it open. There on the other side stood an older lady, with a soft purple complexion and mint green hair, holding a cake.
"Well, good afternoon." she smiled warmly. "I'd gone down to the market, and got a fine deal on fluffleberries yesterday, so I set to baking. After I was done I happened to have an extra cake, and I asked myself which one of my neighbors would-"
"Now's not the best time, Ms.-" Dad snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose with clear aggravation and annoyance.
The lady on the other side of the door shook her head, "Mrs." she corrected. "Mrs. Rosiepuff, and I know it's not sugar, that's why I'm here." she said looking pointedly past dad, and right at John Dory who still trying to dry his tears.
The little boy ducked nervously behind dad's leg, as the man shifted his weight, assessing the situation anew. "Thank you." he said curtly. "But, as I said, now's not the time."
"And I said that's why I'm here." she intoned, her will made of iron.
But dad was strong willed too, and had already begun to shut the woman out of the pod.
"At least take the cake." the woman smiled, though something about the way she spoke, and how her eyebrows knit together ever so slightly seemed to indicate to the little boy that she wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. "Growing boys deserve something sweet, to keep their hair shiny."
"Thank you." Dad said again, taking the pastry.
"If you need anything-"
"Yes, thank you." Dad smiled like he'd tasted something sour, closed the door, and stared for a long minute at the cake in his hands.
"Well," dad croaked afrer a while. "How about it, would you like a slice John Dory?" he asked, melancholy gaze settling onto his son.
Finding himself mute in the face of such head-spinning events all the little boy could do was nod. He followed as dad brought the cake into the kitchen, and cut him a hefty slice. John Dory then watched as dad moved to the living room, changed Spruce's diaper and mixed him a bottle. Minutes later the three sat gravely listening to mom cry as John Dory, and Spruce ate.
When the baby had finished his milk dad apologized in a voice that wavered and broke. What he was apologizing for John Dory wasn't entirely sure, he only knew that he was sorry too, and wished there was someway he could help. Then, dad hugged his sons and went back down the hall.
For the rest of the day John Dory felt like he was holding his breath. Sometimes things were alright, dad would come out, they'd do something quiet like reading or coloring, and it would almost feel, normal. Then, other times, mom would start crying all over again, and suddenly John Dory wasn't just holding his breath anymore, he couldn't breathe.
It was night, and he was in the kitchen trying to make a bottle, his soon to be five year old mind keenly set on not disturbing his parents when over his mother's screaming, and his brother's timorous cry, he heard another knock at the door. The abrupt and forceful sound startled John Dory and caused him to fumble spilling half mixed formula all over his pajamas, the floor, and the baby he had carried in with him, from his bedroom, where the bassinet had be relocated to for the time being.
It was too much for the young Troll who fell onto his butt, sitting in the mess he'd made adding his own tears to all those others that seemed bound to flood the pod. He was tired, he was scared, he was sad, and he just wanted mom and dad to be his mom and dad!
The knocking came again, and again, loud, hard, and unyielding.
Finally dad ran to answer the door, casting John Dory only the briefest look of sheer exhaustion and defeat as he passed by. There, on the other side of the door stood the same woman from earlier, her red cardigan wrapped tightly about her in the night. She wore a pained look on her face, and held mist in her eyes as she stood appraising the man for a long while.
"Asking for help doesn't mean you've failed." she said speaking in a firm, but not uncaring manner before dad could have a chance to get a word in. "And accepting help when it's offered only means that someone cares. Please, let me help."
Getting up John Dory made his way to the living room in time to see dad collapse in harsh sobs upon the woman's shoulder as he fell into her awaiting arms.
"You're doing fine sugar, just fine." The woman murmured rubbing circles into his back. "You're a wonderful husband who loves his wife dearly, and an amazing father who loves his boys just as much. Anyone can see that. Shh, you're alright." she murmured, continuing to rub his back as they rocked and swayed where they stood.
"Beside, we can all use a hand every now and then." she said when they'd pulled apart. "And at my age, I'm just grateful that I can be of use."
From somewhere she produced a lacey handkerchief, and wiped dad's tears. Then dad asked her to come inside. They talked for what seemed like ages as John Dory stood, wet and sticky in the kitchen before the two came to retrieve the boys.
"Hello John Dory." the woman who he'd seen once or twice tending the flamin-glow statues gathered in front of her pod smiled. "You can call me Grandma Rosiepuff. We're going to get you and Spruce cleaned up, and then you're going to come stay at my pod for the night, so your daddy can help your mama get through this slump, m'kay?" she explained to the boy, more than she actually asked him.
John Dory felt nervous and looked anxiously towards his dad for guidance.
"Its alright," he promised, sniffling back his emotions. "Grandma Rosiepuff is going to take care of you boys for the night. Mama's just a little upset right now, and it's not fair for you to be trying to take care of Spruce, while I'm trying to take care of mom."
"But-" John Dory's Brow furrowed. "I'm the big brother."
Dad's lower lip started to tremble, and the smile that looked like it hurt quickly vanished from his face. Suddenly the child got the distinct impression that he'd just hurt dad's feelings very, very badly.
"I'm sorry." he muttered forlornly, reaching up for a hug.
Dad shook like a leaf as he held John Dory close, and smoothed a hand over the little boy's hair. "No," Dad whispered. "I'm sorry."
The walk to Grandma Rosiepuff's pod felt like a hundred mile march to the little boy who kept glancing back over his shoulder to where dad watched them from the front door of their darkened home.
"See, I don't live that far away sweetheart." Grandma Rosiepuff smiled down at John Dory as he passed the several illuminated, ceramic birds that stood before her pod.
John Dory waved to dad who waved back.
The young Troll hesitated at the threshold then. His body felt heavy, and more than just his tummy ached. He felt like there was a great big hole in his heart.
"Its just until your mama feels better." Grandma Rosiepuff assured him.
Inside the pod that should have felt cozy and snug with all its furniture and blankets, John Dory couldn't help be feel small, and cold. Grandma Rosiepuff took the boy's hand and led him gently throughout her abode, showing him the kitchen, the bathroom, her craft rooms, and even her bedroom and closet, all of which smelled of heavy potpourri.
"See, there nothing to be afraid of at Grandma Rosiepuff's." the woman cooed as she laid Spruce down in a well padded basket, one John Dory thought might have once held the yarn balls that looked so out of place next to the playing cards, dice, and puzzles that sat on the nearby table.
Climbing up onto the couch John Dory wrapped his tail around himself as he settled into the makeshift bed that seemed to have been waiting just for him.
"That's better, isn't it?" Grandma Rosiepuff asked as she tucked Spruce's basket in by the little boy's feet.
"Now, you get some rest. I'll be right here if you need me." she declared picking up some sort of project and sitting down in her rocking chair.
John Dory let his eyes wander over his unfamiliar surroundings as he listened to Grandma Rosiepuff hum to herself, as the chair creaked with a steady rhythm.
"Is mama going to be alright?" he asked as his eyes started to feel heavy.
"Yes and no dear one." Grandma Rosiepuff answered in the same plain way she'd first spoken to dad in. "She's sick, in a way, and it won't fix overnight."
"Sick?"
"Mmhmm. It's like having a belly ache in your heart, one that makes it hard to see the sunshine." she continued as she worked with her yarn.
"Is there medicine?" John Dory yawned.
"Only the best kind of medicine there is jellybean, love, patience, and family." Grandma Rosiepuff answered.
Blinking heavily as he stared off at the wall and began to doze John Dory started to feel a little bit better, knowing that there was something he could do to help. Gradually his racing heart and whirling mind began to slow.
He was tired.
He was so very tired.
Wrapped up tight, his toes stretched out to touch Spruce's basket, and lulled by the sound of Grandma Rosiepuff at work John Dory fell asleep, feeling for the first time all day, like he could breathe...