Today when Alex arrived home from school, I went out to join her, as has become our habit. When I was seated in my usual spot, she said, “I’ve got some questions for you.”
Folding my hands, I said, “I will answer if I can.”
“For starters, what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘brownie.’ ”
I’m not ashamed to say I felt a lump in my throat as I said, “My name is Angus Cairns.”
“Do you want me to call you Angus or Mr. Cairns?”
“Angus is fine, miss.”
She made a face. “I don’t like ‘miss.’ Call me Alex, please.”
“All right…Alex.”
“Next question: Do you really have nowhere else to go?”
I shook my head and made my saddest face. I have learned that this is quite effective on humans. It has to do with my big brown eyes, especially when I let tears brim at the bottom of them.
“Well, if you’re going to stay here, we need some rules so we can get along without killing each other. I have been studying brownies and—”
“How did you do that?”
“I Googled it, of course.”
“You did what?”
“You know, Googled it. Did an Internet search.”
I felt like she was talking a different language.
Alex must have seen my confusion, because she said, “You do know what the Internet is, right?”
When I shook my head, she seemed as surprised as I was confused. She sighed, then said, “Let me see if I can explain.”
When she was done, all I could say was, “It sounds like magic to me. Are you sure there’s no witchcraft involved?”
“Nope, just science.”
I realized for the first time how fast the world had been changing while I lived in Sarah’s cottage up in the highlands.
“Anyway,” she said, “all I had to do was type in ‘Brownie,’ and once I got past the kind you eat—”
“The kind you eat?!”
“Yeah, you know, brownies.”
“You humans are eating us now?” I cried in horror.
“Don’t be silly. A brownie is a kind of…oh, I don’t know. Sort of like a thick, squashed-down piece of chocolate cake. They’re delicious.”
“Why are they called brownies?”
“Duh. Because they’re brown! Also, there’s the Girl Scout kind of Brownies, which you obviously are not. But I found lots of information about your kind of brownie, though most of the pictures didn’t look anything like you.”
“We like to stay mysterious,” I said.
She smiled. “I think it’s cool that I get to know a real brownie. Anyway, I understand now about you wanting to keep the room clean. But if we’re going to get along, we need to have a few rules. First off, my desk space is mine and I want you to leave it as it is. Agreed?”
I glanced at the desk and shuddered, but nodded.
“Also, you’ll stay out of my private things, right?”
“Just to be clear, what would those be?”
“For now, my journal and my top drawer. Also, you have to promise not to watch when I change my clothes. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life having to go into the bathroom to change!”
“That’s fine with me. I’ve no interest in seeing your people parts. But how am I to know when you’re about to change?”
She thought, then said, “When I’m going to change, I’ll knock two times on the closet door. That means don’t come out. When I knock again, that will mean it’s all right.”
“As long as you promise never to forget to knock when you’re done, it’s a deal.”
I licked my thumb and held it out to her.
“What are you doing?”
“Lick your thumb and I’ll give you a spit swear never to watch you change.”
She made a face but licked her thumb.
“Now press your thumb to mine.”
She did.
“There. Now you can be sure.”
“Well, all right,” she said. “Let’s see how things go.”
So we seem to have a truce of sorts. And that feels good.
But oh, I ache to have a place where I am not just tolerated but truly wanted and welcome, as I was with my dear Sarah.
I want to have a home.