I was right. What he is, is impossible. And crazy. And incredible. I suppose this is why I never saw it. Why no one did. Not even the adults: the teachers, the principal, not even Mom. If they did see it, they would have convinced themselves they didn’t. It’s too crazy. Too impossible. But if we had looked at Toulouse, really looked at him—past the weird grandpa suit and hat, the briefcase filled with so many odd things, his littleness and foreignness—we would have had to admit what he was.
And anyone who looked at him closely would feel what I’m feeling right now. Frightened. Shocked. Confused. As if suddenly all the rules we’d made up about the world were wrong. As if your own eyes couldn’t be trusted. As if some weird dream you never had had came true. As if you had lost your mind.
I’m feeling and thinking all of these things at the same time. They are crashing down on me. I feel as if my brain is being wrung out like a rag, my heart is blowing up like a balloon, my legs have turned to rubber. Seeing how Toulouse is something that just can’t be is changing me. I’m pretty sure I’m going to faint. Yep, here I go.…
“You okay?” Toulouse asks, bracing my arm with his gloved hand.
I jerk awake. I look at him. I really look at him.
And it’s okay. I’m okay. More than okay. I feel proud. Proud that Toulouse showed me who he is. Proud that I was the first to see him. Proud to be his friend. I hope I am for a long time.
This will depend on who else discovers what he is. Imagine if Garrett found out!
No. No one must find out.
One thing’s for sure. No one will ever find out from me.
“I’m okay,” I say to Toulouse.
“Good,” he says.
He dives into his sandwich. He doesn’t chew. He swallows his food whole, pink foot and all.