Love is a Language

Tag and a Silent Promise

While all of the other children were playing games and chasing each other around the large yard, Henry’s mind wandered to Pierre.  How long was it going to take him to put his stuff in their room?  If he was like Henry, it should only take him a few minutes.  He wasn’t able to wonder for long though, because little Alice was running toward him as fast as she could.  She stretched out her hand as she got closer to tag him ‘it,’ but he was too quick.  He darted around her and ran in the opposite direction.  “Can’t catch me!” he hollered over his shoulder.  But as he faced forward again he ran straight into someone.  He fell on his backside, his eyes watering in pain as his palms scraped the ground.  “Owie...” he sniffled, bringing his hands into his chest.

“’enry!”

Henry looked up in shock when he heard Pierre’s voice.  The older boy knelt down next to him, concern and worry in his blue eyes.  “Je suis vraiment désolé!  Je ne te vois pas!”  Henry couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but from the look on his face it probably meant “I’m sorry.”  Pierre gently took Henry’s hands, biting his lip as he examined the abrasions on his hands.  “Ce est mauvais,” he murmured.  “Ça fait mal?”  He looked into Henry’s eyes, asking for an answer.  Henry only stared at him, unsure of what it was he just asked.  Pierre’s eyes dropped, and his shoulders slumped.  “Peu importe,” he told him.  “vous ne pouvez pas me comprendre...”

“U-uh, I’m okay!” Henry said quickly, realizing with a jolt that he didn’t like seeing Pierre so sad.  “I’m fine!  See?”  He tugged his hands out of Pierre’s and got to his feet, trying not to wince at the pain in his bottom.  “I’m not hurt real bad, I promise!”  To his horror, Pierre just looked more hurt by him standing up.  Henry remembered that not only could he not understand the French boy, but Pierre didn’t know a word he was saying either.  He grabbed Pierre’s hand and pulled him to his feet, unable to hide a wince at his stinging hands.  “I’m okay!” he said again, making sure to smile big for him.  “I’m not hurt!”

Pierre seemed a little unsure of Henry for a moment, but seeing the little boy’s smile seemed to ease his worries a tiny bit.  He squeezed Henry’s hand gently and said “Merci.”  Henry guessed it meant something good, because Pierre’s smile came back after he said it.  The French boy looked over Henry’s shoulder at the children playing behind him.  “Que font-ils?” he asked, pointing over at them.  Henry looked behind him and saw that Alice had finally tagged someone to be ‘it’ and the new person was chasing down John and Peter.

“It’s called ‘Tag,’” Henry said simply.  Pierre blinked at him, and Henry sighed in frustration.  This was going to be tough.  He pointed to the other children, indicating that Pierre should watch them play.  Pierre stared long and hard at them, eyes narrowed in concentration.  Suddenly, as he watched Alice get tagged for a second time by John, his eyes widened and a broad smile broke out on his face.  He laughed merrily at his new discovery, and Henry found himself smiling too at the joy on Pierre’s face.  The French boy seemed truly happy that he’d managed to figure out what Henry had been trying to tell him.

“Allons-y!” Pierre cried, suddenly tugging on Henry’s hand (Had they been holding hands the entire time?) and running with him to the other children.  Henry quickly explained to the others that Pierre wanted to play, and the game was restarted.  John, since he had tagged Alice last, decided he would be ‘it’ so Alice didn’t have to be.  The players all scattered from John as he gave chase, though it seemed that Pierre was his first target.  Unfortunately for John, Pierre turned out to be an incredibly fast runner. His long legs carried him far away from John, no matter how much effort the older boy put into his pursuit.

Henry slowed to a stop just so he could watch Pierre run.  He looked so graceful and free, as if nothing was keeping him on solid ground.  He felt himself tense up in fear when he noticed there was a rock right where Pierre could trip on it, and he started to call out to him.  However, Pierre had already noticed it and had nimbly darted around it.  Then he turned around and started running backwards, a playful little smile on his face as he met John’s eyes.  “Ne peut pas me attraper!” he teased, sticking his tongue out at the older boy.

“I have no idea what you just said, but you’re gonna get it!” John hollered, though the grin on his face said that he hadn’t taken Pierre’s words as an insult or offense.  Pierre giggled and darted around him, running straight at Peter.  Peter squawked and ran the other way, but John decided he’d be a much easier target to pursue and ran after him instead.  Henry shyly walked over to where Pierre was standing, noticing that the boy was only panting a little bit.  He didn’t seem very tired by his run, which surprised Henry immensely.

“You’re fast,” he murmured.  Pierre cocked his head, blinking confusedly at him.  Henry found himself wishing that Pierre could understand him or that he could speak his language.  “Fast,” he said again.  “Quick.  Speedy.”  He mimed running fast with his fingers, but Pierre just seemed to get more bewildered by his miming.  He felt frustrated tears spring into his eyes.  He just wanted to talk to Pierre.  Was that so much to ask?  He wiped at his eyes furiously, trying not to let the tears come out.  He didn’t want to be called a sissy again because he was crying.

Suddenly, he felt Pierre wrap his arms around him in a gentle hug.  He looked up into the French child’s face and was met with a sad, knowing smile.  “Ça va,” he told the frustrated boy.  “Je veux parler à vous aussi.”  Henry’s lip quivered slightly.  Whatever Pierre had said, he sounded so sincere and sure.  He could see a little of the frustration he felt in those big blue eyes of his.  He wrapped his thin arms around Pierre’s middle and buried his face in his chest while Pierre rested his chin on his shoulder.  The two boys consoled each other silently, each promising to themselves that they were going to learn how to talk to each other if it was the last thing they did.
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Translation Notes:

Je suis vraiment désolé! Je ne te vois pas! I'm so sorry! I didn't see you!
C'est mauvais. Ça fait mal? It's bad. Does it hurt?
Peu importe, vous ne pouvez pas me comprendre... Never mind, you can't understand me...
Merci. Thank you.
Que font-ils? What are they doing?
Allons-y! Let's go!
Ça va. It's okay.
Je veux parler à vous aussi. I want to talk to you too.

Author's Note: I was so incredibly nervous to post this story. These characters are incredibly near and dear to my heart, and I've never written a story like this before, let alone publish it anywhere. The closest I've come is writing it with a friend, but those never got published-just stuff between us. Coincidentally, they were about these two. I would add the story of how they came to be, but I feel like the story I'm currently writing should be the main focus. However, if you'd like to hear about their background story I'd be mroe than happy to share with those who ask.