Turquoise Puppet

Chapter 7

While putting us both down, I thought I was free.

The image of Alec sleeping shakes your faith more than you ever imagined it would. It rattles you enough to make you look for the old music sheets that contain the unfinished melody you once wrote. You may be a composer now, and it doesn't take long for you to finish a song, but that melody is the single one you have refused to touch again all these years—in a desperate attempt to forget the only person who truly matters, the only person who has ever really mattered.

Looking through your shelves behind your desk, you quickly find the sheets. You flip through them, and your first reaction is to chuckle and sigh. Did I write something like this? But then again, it is perfectly normal and fine to cringe at one's old work. You study the pages, and return the sheets to their place. Then, you pace toward the living room where your piano awaits. As you lift its lid, you wonder if it is the right choice—to go back now, and face what you tried so hard to hide from.

As you entertain that thought, your front door opens. That can only be your mother—and sure enough, it is her. She puts her bag on the couch and walks in further to see you standing at the piano. At this sight, she sighs.

"You just got out of the hospital and a police questioning, and the first thing you do is this?" she questions.

"Mom." Quietly, you close the lid again. Maybe another time. "I think I need some time alone to process what happened. You know that."

"I do, dear," your mother says, "But your mother also wants to at least see you once. How are you feeling? Where does it hurt?"

Where does it hurt?

Your heart.

But of course, you cannot possibly say that.

"It doesn't hurt. Don't ask, I don't know why either. I should've been dead."

Your mother sighs. "To think that it turned out like this...why did he even do it?"

After a brief moment of silence, you sit on the piano bench, facing your mother. You know she cares, but at the same time, she is just as clueless as everyone else. You knew she wouldn't accept you, so you never told her.

"I don't know," you tell her. This is as truthful an answer as you can give her.

"Do you think he hated you?"

"I wouldn't believe it if you told me so. I wouldn't believe it if he told me so."

Your mother nods. Then, she smiles wryly, looking down. "I still remember how you and Alec met. I know we eventually had our differences, but looking back now, he was always the same sweet little boy. Koen—do you remember that day?"

"No."

Now that she mentions it, you do remember.

☆☆☆

You were only in first grade—or maybe it was second grade, you don't recall when exactly; but in any case, you were very young, and attending school where your classroom was right next to a small playground. That day, you were sitting on one of the two swings, sniffling on your own. The swing was barely moving, because you hadn't sat on it with the mind of taking to the skies.

Some of the other boys jeered at you, saying "look at him, that boy is crying" and "ew, a crying boy". They avoided you as if simply being near you would make them catch "the crying boy syndrome". Their comments didn't make you cry harder, but they did nothing to help your cause either. You sat there, merely looking down in an attempt to ignore their existence.

A boy then comes to stand between you and the others. He had wildly messy blond hair and back then, his frame was smaller than yours, even though you were the same age. It was a kid from the other class, Alec Warrensword. The boy called out in a confident voice, "So what if a boy cries? I've seen all of you cry like babies when you scrape your knees! Koen isn't even crying like that, how dare you say that about him?"

Hearing that, you blinked, temporarily distracted from your distress. Come to think of it, that was true.

"None of your business!" retorted one of those boys. "If I beat you up you'll be crying too!"

Alec shrugged. "I never said I wouldn't."

The other boys stayed back, unwilling to get involved in conflict. The one who was already talking to Alec stepped up instead, as though actually about to throw a punch at him. The prospect of a fight scared you, but what you did was stand up and walk forward—the other child was taller than Alec, but shorter than you, fortunately...very fortunately, because you were quite sure both of them had more courage than you.

And indeed he was about to throw a punch. He even pulled his arm back, but at the last moment saw your tearful glare, and changed his mind.

"Leave me alone," you warned quietly.

For some reason, he obliged.

As the group left, Alec turned to you, his previous stance replaced by a soft smile. "That was pretty funny," he said.

"Funny?" You couldn't believe your ears. "He could have hurt you!"

He shrugged again. "Hey," he said instead, changing the topic, "What's bothering you anyway?"

You hesitated, averting your gaze, but that lasted only a second. You decided to tell him—that you couldn't get a song right no matter how many times you practised.

"Do you play the piano?" he asked.

You nodded.

"Then let's go find Ms. Clarke. Maybe she can help," Alec suggested.

Without waiting for your response, he began to make his way toward the music room. Having no other choice, you followed.

When you reached the music room, the music teacher Ms. Clarke was, as expected, playing the piano inside. Alec half-pushed you towards her and, again, being given no other choice, you told her what your problem was. She asked if you remembered any part of the song off the top of your head, and you nodded. She asked you to play it for her and show her which part it was that you got stuck on, you did. As you played, Alec sat on a chair nearby, his chin in his hands, listening.

When you finished, Ms. Clarke took your hands in hers.

"It's alright, Koen," she said, "It's just because your hands are still small. You'll be able to play that part very soon. You have excellent skills. Alright?"

You nodded.

Together, you and Alec walked out of the room. Along the way, you passed by some of the boys from earlier. You averted your gaze. Alec didn't. He looked at them as casually as if the incident hadn't happened at all, as if he didn't recognize them—more precisely, as if he didn't mind them in the slightest.

That part might just be right.

"Thanks for earlier," you said, having remembered it again. "But that was...risky, I think. If they weren't scaredy-cats, they might hurt you."

Alec grinned. "What do you think I should do then? Watch them bully someone that's already crying?"

"Well..."

"Besides, they won't be bigger than me forever."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going to ask mom and dad to let me play some sports. When I grow bigger and taller, those people there won't even try to talk about you like that."

"Huh?"

"We're friends now. Geez, do I have to say that too?"