Boys Don't Cry

The dull roar kicks up again. The bottom left inhabitant of room 167 once more weeps in the darkness. It's normal.

But this time, Shepard, the light-sleeping brunette roomie, is having a time trying to block out the growing neurosis of his immediate left. So, he does what most boys do, wakes up Roger Ruvie or Quillish Wammy, both formally addressed as "Mister" or "Sir". Most often, it will be Roger to collect the distressed to the point of fever Mihael, Quillish following minutes later. God knows where they take him, but it is away. Room 167 is left quiet, the bed closest to the door, on the left, unmade and uninhabited.

This time, Shepard stayed up for a touch longer to see what they do. Richard mutters curses as the boy tries in vain to calm himself. His blonde hair sticks to his face, partially from his unflattering haircut, primarily from the wetness trailing down his cheeks. Choking turns into sobbing, a self-supporting boy collapses into the bulky, terrycloth robe of the man now more sympathetic as the seconds pass. He takes note how his peer never hushes his sorrow to explain it.

Mihael had been here only a few months. He was from Germany, but the thirteen year old from Berlin said that he German wasn't very good, either. It was mainly conversational. What English he was learning was spoken well, devoid of too much of an accent. He'd outgrow it, Ruvie said. He said that about his bed wetting and his crying that was absolutely hair-triggered.

And, here comes Quillish! Why is he always minutes behind when summoned? As the further derailing child is brought up to lay a hot, red countenance on a broader shoulder, Quillish speaks.

"Oh, it's only Mihael."

Quillish was relieved only for a moment, then his mood turned to pure concern. He watched the small- no, not quite so small, he's eight, boy rub at his eyes and try his hardest to calm down.

As he took Mihael from Roger, he noticed that the boy was trying the smile technique, trying to beam and giggle away your sadness, but all that was happening was a wiggly-wobbly forced smirking. It was unsettling.

"Yes, again."

A look of shame crosses his face as he tries yet again to regain composure, but fails yet again, also.

"I'm alright... I-I'm okay..."

"Do you want to tell us why you're so upset?"

He shakes his head, and tries to breathe through his mouth, but sputters and sobs. His light, almost girlish frame shook and shivered, his face erupted in red.

"I believe he needs to see Doctor Glaskov."

"Oh, no! The last time that quack came... did you not see what damage he brought upon-"

"Come now, Quillish. Glaskov is a fine man, a colleague of mine, I have pure confidence that your dear little daemon-boy doesn't have in hand the composure to register or recall what befell on that incident!"

Roger spits out the "boy" as if merely saying it would taint the very syllable.

"Be civil! It's been several years he has existed among us, and he has held a very gentle and placid existence indeed!"

"Only to be broken when you find those haunted eyes admire the art he has made with your blood! Ever wonder why he chose that letter? THAT letter? Out of 26 in total?"

"It is also the letter of Lazarus and Leliel! Must you rely on such a terrible example-

"Quillish, he's nearly adult and can barely function on his own. He's nothing, a psych case, and we should properly dispose of him."

Mihael was still very upset, but it had down to a pained weeping.

"Oh, dear! Look at us! Quarreling like cats and dogs in front of the poor child!"

Quillish extinguished the quarrel and focused his attention on Mihael. Roger thought dimly how he was only fueling a blaze, but it dissipated.

"I-I..."

"You what, my boy?", Roger said, trying desperately to lighten his tone. with a few pats on the small boy's warm back.

"Please don't make me see a-a shrink!"

With that, he wailed.

"Oh, never, never. It was merely an idea, we do not know why you have such...episodes. We just want you to be happy, Mihael." Quillish took his shoulder gently, not knowing whether to hold the young boy in his arms or let him finish.

His cries reached a grand crescendo, a fortississimo, if you will.

"Perhaps it was the events of the day."

Quillish changed the subject, attending to the task at hand. Shepherd still had no idea what they meant; he was attending a seminar with older boys about the use of geometry and algebra in architectural engineering, which was a possible future career aspiration.

"Yes, yes, I agree."

Slowly, predictably, the group carried him down the hall, and away further until he could barely be heard, only if you knew to focus on the sound. It was a volume of which Shepard found tolerable for steady somnia. But, Roger ran back to snatch the prayer quilt off of Mihael's bed, as well as something from his nightstand drawer. After, he turned on his heel, shut the door very, very, softly. Finally, Shepard crawled into his still-warm bed for a calm and restful night ahead.

[I have an audio version of this, if you REALLY love it. Inbox me for details.]