Scrapped Together

Chapter Two: Written in Clay

Overnight at Grandma Rosiepuff's quickly turned into a few days there. Dad visited as often as he could though, and he brought by toys, extra diapers, and John Dory's most favorite snacks in the whole world. So, it didn't seem too bad except for when the little boy missed his home, his mom, his dad, and his stuff. But that didn't happen too often, only whenever he remembered where he was, and by extension, where he wasn't.

He cried a lot.

But Grandma Rosiepuff was patient. Sometimes she just let him get it out. Other times she rubbed his back and listened to his sorrows and anxieties as he laid on the couch, offering him what comforts she had to give. Then there were the distractions; games, activities, trips to the park, and playing with baby Spruce that helped occupy his troubled mind, and expend some of his pent, nervous energy.

It was the third evening, while dinner simmered in a large pot on the stove that Grandma Rosiepuff taught him how to ball yarn. It was a task which mostly involved John Dory sitting still with his arms outstretched and covered in loose cords of yarn, while Grandma worked and regaled him with stories from her youth.

It was this quiet chore that gave the little boy pause to sit with his feelings, and really think as he watched, half mesmerized, as the ball of yarn in Grandma Rosiepuff's skilled hands steadily grew in size.

At first John Dory himself hadn't even been sure why he was crying as much as he was. It seemed almost silly, somehow, he thought then.

Grandma Rosiepuff was very nice, the child noted to himself. She was good with Spruce, and always seemed to have time for John Dory too no matter what she was in the middle of when he came to tug on her tail, or apron strings. Initially he believed that it was the being away from his parents part that had made him so sad, but, he realized in the moment that, that wasn't the whole of it.

Grandma Rosiepuff seemed to sense his internal questioning and deliberation, graciously saying that the story of learning to knit from her own grandmother could wait for another time.

He was scared, John Dory realized. Really scared.

He was scared, not only that he might never get to go home again, but of what awaited him there if he did. With a shudder he recalled the terrible hollow feeling the pod had as mama screamed and cried. It was like being given an empty birthday present. It looked beautiful and full of promise on the outside, but inside it was cold, lonely, and bereft of everything that had once filled it with joy.

He didn't want to go back to holding his breath, to waiting for something bad to happen, to hoping against hope that mom or dad would somehow be able to make everything alright again, just like they always had. Most of all however, he was afraid, afraid of mom, and the monster she seemed to have become thrashing and shrieking on the bed as she fought dad who did her best to hold, and calm her.

Sniffling back tears from eyes that felt sore and grainy from all the ones he'd already shed, John Dory chewed on his lower lip.

"You doing alright there, jellybean?" Grandma asked looking up from her work.

The little boy shook his head.

"Do you want to tell Grandma Rosiepuff what's wrong?" she gently prodded.

John Dory shook his head again, then, nodded it, then, the tears overwhelmed him completely.

Putting the yarn aside Grandma scooped him into her lap and held him there for a long while, long enough for his sobs to turn to sniffles and his eyes to feel thick and heavy. Spruce woke up shortly after John Dory's tears stopped. So, the little boy leaned dowsing against Grandma Rosiepuff's side as she changed his brother. He was trying to figure out how to put into words just how frightening that single glimpse of his mother had been for him.