“Don’t panic. Don’t move.”
A few moments before, he had rushed into my room, startling me awake a full 56 minutes before my alarm went off.
“OH MY GOD…DAD!”
I was dreaming, pleasantly. A rare occurrence, these days.
His mad charge blew away any hope of my staying in the deceptive mists of Morphea.
He’s in loud, apparent distress….tragedy must have struck.
His new fish is floating? The sky has finally fallen on his head?
He jumps on top of my body, as usual, sabre-sharp elbows and knees sticking out for maximum damage.
“Ouf…Noah, my b…s, geez that hurts, you crazy dork.”
I push his stick limbs out of my genitals, off my neck, out of my eye.
“…you know what?”
He appears in full health.
The rest right now is the rest….and I don’t care.
“This better be life or death, Noah…I was sleeping, deeply.”
“But, Dad, its Crounsee.”
“What? He’s floating….?”
“He laid an egg, dad.”
Oh God! Am I being punished for not believing in you?
“He’s not a she-fish, so no eggs, Noah…and it hardly is sufficient cause to wake me.”
He pushes off me. Elbows sticking into my solar plexus.
I’m about to lose all human veneer. I’m about to rage….
Instead, Noah screams.
I can’t finish. He screams again.
“My hair….” His hands flail.
Ah, his long hair, of which he is so proud, is caught in the little bell I have on my wrist…a gift from Noah himself.
I move…he suffers.
“Don’t panic…don’t move.”
Of course, he moves.
I disentangle one hair at a time as he protests like a pig at slaughter.
“You’re hurting me.”
Tangling is easy and sometimes fun, disentangling is always tough and painful.
“Don’t lay an egg…”
“I can’t lay an egg, I’m a boy.”
“Tell that to your fish.”
I finally free him. He bolts out of my bed and rubs his head.
“You’re nuts, dad.”
My head spins…its been doing that a lot lately.
Inner ear? Inner turmoil?
I fall back in bed.
Noah walks off, grumbling.
I feel like I’m losing consciousness.
Don’t panic….stay still, I tell myself.
The spinning gets worse. I close my eyes.
Stay very still.