I had a little notebook that held all the stories that I’d told Nick and Dick over the years. They weren’t Grimms’ Fairy Tales or anything deserving a proper binding, but they were good enough.
Hugo was already in his bed, an old teddy bear from the twins safe in the crook of his elbow.
“What’s that?” he asked, squinting at the notebook.
“Well, it has some stories that I’ve made up,” I answered.
“You make up stories?” His face opened up in awe.
“I try.” I sat on the end of his bed, not taking offense when he pulled his feet up toward himself. The boy liked his space. I didn’t need to let it hurt my feelings. “Would you like me to tell you one?”
He nodded and drew his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs.
“There once was a boy named Hugo,” I started, looking up from the book to see his expression.
Where I’d hoped to see delight, I instead noticed indifference.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“No. Not Hugo,” he said, his lip curled.
“Oh, I thought you’d want a story about you.”
“I already know all my stories.” He pushed his lips to one side. “Can he have a different name?”
“Sure. How about Jimmy?”
He nodded and moved just a tiny bit closer to me. I reached forward and patted the arm that he had slung around his bear’s neck. Hugo had on his red flannel cowboy pajamas even though it had been in the upper eighties that day. It little mattered to him how hot it had been. He loved those jammies.
“Jimmy lived in a big city with loud cars and trucks always driving up and down the streets and noisy people shouting wherever he went.”
“Why were they shouting?”
“Well, that was the only way anyone could be heard. That’s how loud it was,” I said. “All throughout the day he’d look up to see the sky, but there was too much smog making dirty gray clouds above his head. At night he couldn’t see the stars because of the too-bright lights that dimmed them.”
“Were there any birds?”
“If there were, Jimmy never heard them over the shouting people and honking horns,” I answered. “One day, while Jimmy looked out his window, he saw a balloon floating through the air.”
“What color was it?” Hugo asked in his tiny voice. “Was it yellow?”
“It was,” I answered. “How did you know that?”
“Just did.”
“Well, you’re very smart.” I winked at him and was so glad to see his gentle smile. “The boy jumped from rooftop to rooftop, swinging from laundry lines when the buildings were too far apart, climbing up fire escapes, all so he could chase that balloon.”
“Why did he want to chase it?”
“Because it called to him. Above the traffic and noise of people yelling out their windows, the balloon called to him. Somehow it even knew his name.”
“Jimmy,” he said, drawing it out like a beckoning.
“By the end of the day, Jimmy reached the very last building of the city. The telephone lines ended and so did the paved roads. The things of the city were replaced by trees and grass and fields of flowers.”
The boy, I went on to say, stepped in the grass, pleased by its softness. He took in air not thickened by the exhaust of cars. He closed his eyes to hear the peeping tweets of birds that flew just over his head.
“And that was when he first felt afraid,” I said.
“What was he scared of?” Hugo asked. “Does this story get scary? I don’t like those kinds.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t tell ghost stories,” I said. “Poor Jimmy was afraid of all of it. The sky was too blue and the grass too cool under his feet. The air was so clean it made his body feel too alive. The birds were so beautiful that he was sure his heart would break.”
“Why’s he afraid of that?”
“Because he was just sure it would never last.”
“He didn’t have to go back, did he?” Hugo said. “Aunt Betty, don’t make him go back.”
“Hold on, sweetie. The story isn’t over yet.” I cleared my throat. “The boy thought that if he ran into the fields, if he could get far enough away from the city, he’d be able to escape. He’d finally be free.”
So, the boy ran until he came to a river. The balloon bobbed in the sky, leading him along the bank until it stopped.
“That yellow balloon floated in the air right in front of a castle,” I said.
“Was it a real castle?” Hugo asked. “Where a king lived?”
“That was just what Jimmy wondered.” I nodded. “You sure are smart, you know. Jimmy looked up at that castle. It was made of stone and yellow plaster and had spires that pointed up to the sky.”
Hugo made a perfect circle with his lips.
“An old woman lived in that castle,” I went on. “She was the queen of all the land.”
“A good queen or a bad one?” He leaned forward, shifting his weight so he was on the side of his hip. I could almost feel the warmth of him so close to me.
“A good one this time.” I touched his nose. “And she gave him a bowl of tomato soup that tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten. She followed it with a piece of cake so soft and with frosting so sweet he thought maybe he’d made it all the way to heaven.”
I told Hugo about how the woman let the boy sleep in a warm bed with clean covers and a feather pillow that eased him into only good dreams of beautiful days.
“Jimmy stayed there for months, climbing the big oak around back of the castle and catching fireflies at night. Sometimes he even went fishing for pike and catfish. He ate sweet peas right out of the garden and picked juicy raspberries that the woman made into pies every afternoon.”
“I like raspberries,” Hugo said.
“Me too.” I couldn’t help but smile at that boy. “The queen enjoyed having Jimmy around so much, she asked if he’d like to be a son to her.”
“He’d be a prince?”
“If he wanted to be.”
“But something bad has to happen, remember?” Hugo asked. “Mommy says if it doesn’t, it’s not a good story.”
“Thank you for reminding me,” I said. “One morning when the boy woke up, he saw that the leaves turned from dazzling green to blazing reds and oranges. The air had a bit of a nip to it. Some of the birds left. Then, a few days later, the leaves all dropped to the ground, and the trees were naked.”
At that, Hugo let out a little giggle.
“The boy thought the trees had all died.”
“But they didn’t. It was just fall.”
“Well, you know that, and I know that. But poor Jimmy sure didn’t. What a shock he had that morning.” I lowered my voice. “He went to the oak, the one who had become such a good friend to him. He put his hands on the trunk, trying to feel life in it, but all he could feel was the rough bark as he worked his fingers into the furrows and ridges. He climbed up in the branches, inspecting where the leaves had once been, wondering what could have happened.”
“Poor Jimmy.”
“Yes. Poor Jimmy indeed.” I shook my head. “The days became shorter, and he feared the sun was going away forever. The clouds became a gloomy gray and the air was colder than it had been.”
“Did he have a coat?”
“I’m sure he did.”
“What happened to the balloon?”
“Why, it went away when the weather turned. One day it was there, the next it was gone.”
“That’s too bad,” Hugo said.
“Through it all, the old queen didn’t seem alarmed. She went out and raked the crisped leaves and brought out extra blankets from the linen closet. She chopped wood into logs for the fire and preserved what she’d harvested from the garden. All the while, Jimmy mourned the beautifully bright days he’d come to love.”
“Why didn’t she tell him it was just fall?”
“Because . . .” I started, hoping to come up with something good enough.
“She thought he already knew?”
“Exactly that.” I sighed. “Poor Jimmy’s fears that the good couldn’t last seemed to be coming true.”
I told about how the boy wasn’t quick to rise in the mornings and he was sluggish during the day. When it came time for sleep, he burrowed deep beneath the pile of blankets the woman had put on his bed. He looked to the sky and despaired of ever seeing a bright color again.
“The old woman noticed the change in him,” I continued. “She came to him with a cup of tea . . .”
“Hot cocoa,” Hugo corrected.
“All right, hot cocoa,” I said, trying not to laugh. “With whipped cream?”
“Marshmallows.”
“Ah yes. Of course. And she asked him to tell her what was the matter.”
“She was nice about it?”
“Why wouldn’t she be? There’s no use being mean to someone who’s upset,” I said. “And he told her how sad and frightened he was. He asked if it was his fault that everything was dying.”
“She didn’t laugh at him,” Hugo said.
“She did not. It’s rude to laugh when someone’s upset, don’t you think?”
He nodded.
“But she did put her soft arms around him and let him cry for the oak tree and the leaves, for the drooping flowers and empty garden. She listened to him speak of missing the birds and the sunshine.”
“She said it was okay to be sad.”
“Yes, because it is. And then she kissed his forehead and told him she had good news,” I said.
The old woman spoke softly, gently. She told the boy that if he could wait a handful of months more, they’d all return. The trees would flower with new leaves and the ground would soften again, ready for fresh seeds. Day would last longer than night again and the birds would come back home with new songs to sing.
“She told him that the cold and dark was only for a little while. She warned him about the snow that was soon coming,” I said. “But she also told him about building snowmen and making snow angels.”
“And catching snowflakes in his mouth?”
“Of course. That too.” I rubbed my thumb on the back of his hand. “The old woman told Jimmy about a new time that would come and that he would love the spring more because of the winter. He learned to find beauty in the frost that spread over the glass window in his room. She taught him how to skate on the frozen river and to build the perfect snow fort. After their days playing outside, he enjoyed coming in to a steaming cup of hot cocoa.”
“And a sweater she made him?” Hugo asked.
“Oh, that was the best of all,” I said. “Then one day he found that the snow was melting, that the sun peeked out more often, that the air smelled new again. Another day he heard the honking return of geese and noticed bits of yellow on the fingertips of branches.”
The boy climbed up the tree, I went on to say, inching himself to the very end of a strong branch, daring to touch the small twigs shooting out of it. It was there he saw the flower of gold that soon would burst into leaf.
“And, far off in the sky, he saw the yellow balloon, bobbing up and down on the breeze,” I said. “This time not calling him. This time, reminding him that he was right where he belonged.”
“The end?” Hugo asked.
“Yes. The end.”
“It was a good story.” He rested his head against my shoulder, and I tried not to move.
“I’m glad you liked it,” I said.
“Can you tell me another tomorrow?”
“I’ll see if I can come up with something good.” I patted his cheek before standing. “Now, get settled in.”
“Can you tuck me in?” he asked, moving toward the head of his bed and hunkering down on his pillow.
“Of course I can.” I clicked my tongue to call Flannery and let her jump up past me to get to Hugo’s side before I pulled the sheet up to cover him just at the waist.
“I like being here with you,” he said. “Can I stay here forever?”
“Well, I like having you here too.” I straightened the covers at the foot of the bed. “You and your mommy can stay as long as you’d like.”
I nodded, the warmth in my chest having nothing to do with the hot evening.
“Good night,” I whispered.
“Aunt Betty?”
“Yes?”
“Are castles real?” he asked. “Or are they just in stories?”
“They’re real.”
“Have you ever seen one?”
“Hm.” I touched a finger to the end of my chin. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
“You have?”
I bent at the waist to be closer to him. “Would you like to see it tomorrow?”
He nodded and he reached his arms up, pulling me down into a hug.
It very nearly took my breath away.