POWER: A Tale of Greatness

CHAPTER 12

"You sure are very dedicated to this hobby of yours." Bulls follows Owen down the path. "If only I had these many spare parts, I could have perfected my prototypes back home."

Twelve degrees Celsius, the gusts of wind blow spontaneously, Owen and his Grandfather have fully adapted to such harsh conditions in the tundra. He and Bulls are wearing silver sweaters and long, thick pants for warmth for today is exceptionally windy.

Owen looked over his shoulder, "I have  nothing else to do but; A. Play with Buster, B. Cook for Gramps, or C.–my personal favorite–tweaking with my tools to build something new." He tucked his hands in his sweater's pocket. "Take some parts before you go where you're going with the old guy?"

Bulls smiled as the wind blew his fluffy hair, unbothered by its cold caresses, "As much as I wanted to, I can't, we're still uncertain if we're going back or not." He sighed gently. "So I must focus first on the mission."

"If there are uncertainty issues then why did you join him?"

Bulls shoved his right hand in his sweater, "Because why not? I just wanna help, wanna do something new—something different—because we know life is not the lengthiest thing in the universe and still has so many things to offer..." he smiles "...so I guess, we gotta try some things out of an impulse, try and try, that's what we inventors do."

"I get your point," Owen turned to face Bulls, walking backwards, "but hey, don't forget to enjoy things, giving time for ourselves is one of the best therapies we could have, y'know."

Bulls messed his hair up along with the wind.

"Is that all the reason you have?" Owen faced the path. "Or are there other things you are running away from?"

Bulls remembered Junnie's warning, encouraging him to leave, and his best friend–Rocky–who had a little misunderstanding with him.

"Hey, kid..." He reached for his ear and began rubbing it with his cold, left hand. "Say you have a friend, like a brother from anither mother... a grumpy one, and you have a little misunderstanding, a little big one actually, bigger than the usual ones you had before..."

Owen cocked his head to the right, "Yeahh, go on, I'm listening..."

"How would you deal with it?"

"I don't know." Owen kicked a pebble on the path, "I'll just ignore it and accept things as they should be. Lemme ask, is that friend of yours always like that? Grumpy? Misunderstand things easily? Close-minded?"

"Yeah."

"Then let him be, don't waste your time fixing things that aren't broken. They are what they are, accept it." Owen placed his hands behind his nape, resting his head, "My point is, if they misunderstand things a lot, let them be. Explaining things to close-minded people is like uhm... twisting a bolt to the left, hoping it would loosen up, but instead, it would go tighter and tighter until it would never be moved. Instead, look for other ways to loosen it up, go to the right, another way. Give them time, let them cool down and rethink your actions and theirs."

Bulls gazed at the peaks of the tall trees at a distance. "And how would we know if it's the solution if we distance ourselves?"

"We won't, they would." Owen paused. "Because if that person thinks of you as a friend, they'll lower their pride, come back—calm or grumpy or outraged—they came back because they thought of you, things you had, the bond, and that's their resolve." Owen leaped off the path and into a wooden shed. "And besides, we are mechanics not therapists, have you forgotten?"

Bulls sighed, "Thanks for the pep talk, kid."

"Yeah, now help me with these crates. Use your muscles, big man."