Pucker Up For Safety PT.14
As sure as monsters do not cry, stories need to continue, and Billy’s had just begun. Well, sort of anyway. Looking down and around on the ground, he saw that the papers floating atop the mud had held detailed drawings of dragons, knights, and other various fantasy characters and settings. They were amazing. The first one he had noticed was of a woman garbed in armor with long flowing hair standing proudly and still gripping a very large broken lance. The other knights in the picture were bowing their heads out of respect and she was being given a trophy. No doubt, she must have won a tournament of sorts.
He looked back up and toward Marlene as she stood there sobbing. These were hers! She made these!… and he had ruined them.
Memories suddenly flooded back, as they are often want to do, and as if by some miraculous and well timed instant replay, young Booger Billy had seen the truth behind this would-be metal mouthed monster named Marlene. The names she had unjustly been given. The constant years of bullying she had endured. The amount of times she had been tripped over and over again into various mud-like situations. These moments filled his little mind, and he felt so very sorry.
She too was a victim of circumstance. Labeled monster early in life, Marlene never had a fair shake at public school. Marlene, who grew too big too fast. Marlene, who wore the same set of hand-me-down clothes everyday. Marlene, who sat alone. Ate alone. Worked alone. Lived alone. It was no small wonder why she was so irritable, so quick to jump to her own defense, so quick to jump to anger.
Only this time she had no anger left. He had possibly gone too far. She only stood there and sobbed. Her life’s work nearly ruined, she had already so much taken away from her throughout the years, and Billy could not stand idly by and watch her lose this too. Reaching for his backpack he opened it up and began to wipe his hands on everything he could find. Luckily enough, he had packed a sweater in case he felt the need to cover up his brightest orange t-shirt, and as the mud had already handled that part, he used it instead as the perfect means to get his hands clean.
Picking up each drawing one by one he began to wipe the backs as spotless as he could. He was happy with the result. As he bundled them together, instead of stacking them atop one another, he took from his notebook a piece of paper to place in between each page. He wanted to ensure mud would not touch any of the wonderful drawings he had encountered. Once he had everything in order and gathered skillfully together, he brought them to Marlene.
“Did you draw these? They’re really cool” he said, handing them over to her in one neat and orderly stack. “You’re not a monster like they all say you know. Anyone who could draw like this is bound to be awesome.” She did not respond, so he leaned in a bit closer, “That means I think you’re awesome in case you didn’t understand. Sorry, I only explain because people say I talk funny.” She nodded after the strange comment before he continued. “Anyway, if people can’t see how awesome you are, that’s their failing and not yours.” He nodded reassuringly before giving her back the remainder of her work, salvaged, and as clean as they can be, considering their circumstance from moments before.
“I better get cleaned up too.” he said before making his way out toward the office. “Hopefully we bump into each other again, but you know, without all the mud.”
A muddy Billy Ballard waddled his way toward the office.
Marlene began to cry again, only this time she was not sad, nor mad, but happy.
She had made a friend.
The Doubt In Us All
Dearest Reader,
Doubts like donuts will fill your stomach in the emptiest of ways. Too much of either and you’ll be sick in bed unable to accomplish a single thing. Circumstance, that often painful truth, determines whether or not said donuts are fresh, but more importantly, it contributes to how we deal with such debilitating doubt. When we’ve fallen and cannot seem to catch a break, this doubt, self-doubt, swells into an unbearable burden. The once tiny, yet nagging, voice within our heads suddenly grows oppressively louder and louder yelling things like, “You’re not good enough!”
And maybe you’re not. Not yet anyway.
Like all works in progress you may still have a ways to go, so the best course of action is to try and do, and do some more. Do what you can, when you can, and keep moving. Don’t stand still. Don’t call it quits. Don’t settle for good enough, as it almost never is. And now that I’m near done convincing myself to carry on, I’ve a promise to keep, and a story to share, so I better not let doubt trump my deadlines!
Nearly a month ago today, I was with a person very dear to me when we had received the heartbreaking news regarding the untimely death of the incomparable Robin Williams. It took a great deal of time for it all to sink in. He was so full of life, and laughter, and childlike whimsy. In all honesty part of me simply refused to believe that he was gone. Part of me believes he never will be. I don’t think it really hit me until a particular memory popped into my head just before bed. It was the memory of my very first encounter with Mr. Williams. It was the memory of watching a lovely little film called Mrs. Doubtfire with my little big sister. From the get-go I was completely enthralled and had admired the man and his various voices on screen. He was quick-witted, charming, and altogether brilliant. We were two lost children laughing and crying alone, but together, wishing we had a father who would try half that hard to be with his children. We were not so lucky in that regard, but thanks to Mrs. Doubtfire, we could always dream.
My fascination with the wonderfully talented, scene stealing, Mr. Williams did not end with Mrs. Doubtfire, but the movie definitely was the spark for me. From Hook, to Aladdin, to Jumanji, the list went on and on, but it wasn’t until I grew older did I appreciate works like Good Morning Vietnam, Dead Poets Society, and Good Will Hunting. Often or not I find myself naturally quoting his wonderful characters, be it a, “Run by Fruiting” or, “Going to see about a girl” or yelling at the top of my lungs the occasional, “Jumanji!” I’ll always have a special place in my heart for the man that gave two fatherless children the hope to carry on, the strength to laugh despite our circumstance, and the inspiration to do good by others and ourselves.
I know this wasn’t much of a story, but merely a mention of a memory. A memory I needed to remember dearly, so that I may pick myself up once again, and proudly proclaim, Jumanji!
Sincerely,
Remy Saint-Satyr
P.S.
Robin Williams was always, above all else, a good man. I will remember him as such. I will always thank him for it, and hope to follow his lead in that regard.
About Me
Remy
Saint-Satyr
Writer
My dream is to tell stories.
Stories are meant to be shared, to be enjoyed, to provide an escape from the dull, drab and mundane. Stories inspire, they sway hearts, and lift spirits. It is through stories where one may find they are not so alone in this dark and dreary world. It is through stories where a different life can be lived at the turn of a page. It is through stories where adventure awaits always.
To be a storyteller is to be a part of a world of dreams, and dreams can change the world.
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