Inconsistent Paper Stars

Going to Zacky’s house! Even as Mrs. Baker drove the car, Brian couldn’t wrap his head around it. He couldn’t believe that his life had done a complete 180 spin since yesterday. He was actually looking forward to school tomorrow! That was something he couldn’t even begin to believe. But here was the proof bouncing in the seat next to him.

“Okay, so first we’we gonna build a fowt, so we can hang out awl da time in dere. Den we have to make a sign to go on the dowr of our fowt that says ‘No Giwls Allowed’ or someding like dat. ‘Cept my mommy would have to be an ‘ception only ‘cause she’s my mommy and I lovey lovey LOVEY HER!” Zacky started to get louder and louder towards the end, to make sure his mom could hear him.

“Zacky, don’t worry, I heard everything you said. And I love you, too, but there’s no need to shout. We don’t want to burst open poor Brian’s ears just yet. Let’s make sure he can hear for just a little while longer, okay, Zacky?” His mother had a big smile on her face, however. She loved her hyperactive five-year-old, as much as any mom.

“Okies, Mommy. When are the tacos gonna be done?” Brian’s ears perked up at the word “tacos”. He decided they were his favorite food, because they were the first meal he was gonna have with his bestest friend.

“As soon as I get them done. Just like every other night.” Mrs. Baker pulled up to their house. It wasn’t anything overly extraordinary, but Brian liked it right away. It wasn’t too grand, but it wasn’t too small, either. “Now, go on and build your fort. You can use any of the blankets in the closet, and any chairs that aren’t around the table.”

“YAY! C’mon, Bwian, let’s go!!!” Zacky dragged his best friend out of the car, up the stairs, and into the room with a sign on it. Brian stopped to stare at it before going in.

The sign was definitely something to be noted. A huge monster had been drawn on the front, its wide open mouth being in the center. It looked like it had been drawn by at least a third grader. It had been mostly colored, though there was a white spot in the middle of the mouth with some writing in it. However, since Brian was only five, he couldn’t read it yet. But he was in awe of the art.

“Wowiez, Zacky, did you made dis?” Brian stared open-mouthed.

Zacky shrugged. “I drewed the picture. My mommy wrote the letters, though. She told me it says, “ZACKY’S ROOM. KEEP OUT.” Dat’s what I asked her to write. She promised me she did. But come on. Dat’s boring. Let’s go to my room and make a fowt!” Going to the closet to get the blankets, he threw them into his room and went to grab some chairs from downstairs.

Brian followed, and together, the two boys lugged five folding chairs up the stairs--one at a time, of course--and put them in Zacky’s room, which is something else to be described.

Painted a light blue, it had a bunk bed that was attached to both ceiling and floor, with a toychest at the head and a dresser at the foot. Other than that, the room was bare of furniture. Zacky didn’t have any really large toys, or a TV or video games in his room. In fact, his toychest was really just a place where he put everything. All his drawings, his pencils, pens, markers, paper, stuffed animals, and anything else he had were in there. But, mostly, he was outside, swinging on his swingset, hanging out with the third graders, or traveling through his backyard, imagining strange things coming up along the way. Zacky never really had a need for materialistic things like other kindergarteners did. This suited Brian just fine, as he was the same way. Except he had a guitar instead of drawing things, and no third graders to go hang out with.

They set up the chairs in an awkward circle, and draped many sheets and different blankets around it and in it to make a cozy place for them to be. Zacky dug through his toychest and found a string of lights, and the two used tape to hang them up around the inside of the fort, then plugged it in after the jimmied the safety cover off of the outlet.
“I don’t know why my mommy puts those on there. She showed me how to take it off. I think it might be my gwandma and gwandpa weawing off on her. They like to see me being a good kid, so I have to bwush my haiw and weaw normal shiwts and jeans without holes when they come. I can’t be me. I don’t like it. Not at awwwwwwwwl.” Zacky’s serious face drops into a happy one. “You know what we can do, Bwian? We can pwetend we’re on da run from da law ‘cause we didn’t wanna go to school, so we didn’t!!”

“Dat’s a gweat idea, Zacky! Oh, wait, I can hear footsteps!! We better be quiet!!’

And the boys had a great time, creating voices for the police looking for them, and running out and around the tent several times with the lights out and the blinds closed to make it seem like the middle of the night, imagining running away from the cops that they were sure were behind them, before falling into a laughing, exhausted heap in the middle of their blanketed, dimly lit paradise.

“Dat was fun, Bwian. I’m suuuure glad you’we my bestest fwiend.” Zacky smiled at him. Brian couldn’t help but smile back. “Oh, wait, I think my mommy’s gonna call us for dinner in….wait……..now.”

“BOYS! TACOS ARE DONE!” comes his mother’s call from up the stairs. Brian’s face went blank with wonder.

“How’d you do dat?” He eyed his new friend suspiciously. “Are you a future-teller pewson?”

“Yes, I am, and I can tell you dat we’re going to be bestest fwends for the rest of our lives. Now c’mon! Tacos awe waiting!!!” The two boys raced down the stairs to the wonderfullness of the frying vegetarian meat and assorted veggies and taco stuff waiting for them to dig into. After Mrs. Baker makes them wash their hands, of course.