The Papers with the Mustache Man

Every night, Pa hunched over his desk scribbling in the black book.

A kerosene light illuminated the curves of his face. It made him look like a Jack-o-Lantern working the graveyard shift.

While Pa scribbled, Ma stayed in the kitchen peeling potatoes and kneading dough and performing other Ma-like tasks.

Every once in a while, she'd creep up behind Pa and peek over his shoulder to look at the scribbles.

They were interesting to Ma.

Sometimes they made her cry.

Sometimes they made her nod earnestly.

One time (years earlier and well before Elliot could compute these sorts of things) they had made her smile.

But the scribbles weren't interesting to Elliot. He couldn't read (and he didn't know what reading was even if he could).

He sat in the corner by the woodstove. Close enough to be warm, far enough to be safe.

He was rolling around a bright yellow tin that used to have milk powder inside of it but now had nothing inside of it.

It made satisfying tin noises.

After a while, Pa stopped scribbling. He closed the black book and shook his head.

Ma wrung her hands out on her apron. She scooped Elliot up under her arm and took him to bed.

Then Ma and Pa spoke in adult for a while.

...

The next afternoon, Ma sat on a weak wooden chair - watching from the porch as Elliot toddled around the backyard.

In moments like these, she was acutely aware of (and grateful for) the low amount of maintenance that her son required.

(This wasn't the kind of kid to tug at his mom's dress while his sister was tugging at her breast. No siree).

Ma had to regulate naptimes, but apart from this, Elliot needed little more than the mothering of nature.

He was old enough that she had begun to duck inside the house for short stretches of time while he played - leaving him unsupervised (although he was young enough that she felt guilty about it).

As she hemmed and breastfed, Elliot explored his kingdom.

He cooed and gurgled with the creek. He hopped and bopped with the frogs.

He skipped with the bunny rabbits and squeaked with the squirrels.

He squealed with glee as an owl landed on a nearby tree.

Under the owl's watchful gaze, he conducted his routine inspection of the hollows (this is when Ma decided to put some dinner on the stove).

His inspection yielded:

-Two golden leaves from the skinniest tree.

-An acorn from the fattest.

...and (quelle suprise!)...

-A snail from the tallest.

He looked up at the owl, who nodded with approval. Then he stowed the treasures away in his best hiding spot.

(Don't ask me where I'm not telling)

Emboldened by the day's success, Elliot decided to do something brave and unusual.

He waddled up to the spooky tree.

The bark on the spooky tree was thick and jagged - like building blocks. It was wider than his wingspan.

On the far side of the tree, there was a hollow that was big enough to climb right inside.

Elliot stood in front of it, shivering. It was blowing cold air at him.

He took a deep breath and spelunked. The world inside of the tree sounded like a conch shell.

He couldn't see anything, but hands felt around the crumbly damp bark until they landed on a treasure. He held it tightly as he walked out of the tree hollow.

In the light, he saw that the treasure was made out of paper.

(Twenty pieces of paper to be exact, but Elliot couldn't count past three).

The papers were pale green - like leftover grass in the springtime. They were bound together with a rubber band. Elliot removed it easily.

(The boy was dexterous beyond his years).

On every piece, there was a picture of a man with a big fat caterpillar mustache.

Elliot burbled and danced around. The whole forest danced with him - the frogs and the bunny rabbits and the squirrels and the ducks (and yes even the owl everyone has to let loose sometimes).

He afforded himself a brief celebration before getting down to business.

He stuffed the papers into his diaper (it was clean don't look at me like that) and set off.

There was much to do.

The snail needed a new carpet.

The frogs needed new lily pads.

The squirrels needed blankets.

The bunny rabbits needed fabric to make their winter coats.

The ducks didn't need anything but they were wonderful company so he decided to share anyways.

And he still had one left.

"Hoo."

(Yes, yes. But how do I get it to you all the way up there?)

"EEEEEEEELLLLLLLLIIIIIOOOOOTTTTT!"

Uh oh.

(Sorry, Mr.Owl. I'll get you next time goodbye).

He stuffed the last piece of paper in his diaper and completely forgot about it until changing time.

...

Ma screamed. She screamed in adult, but she didn't sound angry.

Pa ran over (and Pa never came over to the changing table this had to be something big).

She handed him the piece of paper.

He stood there with a mouth as wide as the Tenessee sky. His eyes were darting between Elliot and the caterpillar man.

(surely this kid hadn't just crapped out a $1000 bill but there it was how could he deny it?)

He ran over to his desk and flung open the black book.

He ran around the house and grabbed Ma and sang songs and danced like Christmas.

Elliot giggled.

If the paper made Pa and Ma this happy, he knew that it must have made his friends in the forest happy, too.