Malcolm - Meet the Parents (Patreon)

I was curious about my new Gatekeeper. He was younger than I expected. Someone that hadn’t taken the role by choice but instead had it thrust upon him. That in itself wasn’t highly unusual but he seemed almost in shock. His body could not handle the pain the first week and he fell into a fever. The second week, he was concerned, looking at the world like it was his enemy. The paranoia heightened to a hardened fear in his eyes as he peered into the shadows and the little cracks in the world that most could not see.  I wanted to reach out to him. Let him know that I had no plans to hurt him.  But the pain was too sharp and I didn’t know how to get him to listen.

He seemed sad.  It was curious really. As I peered into his life, it looked like he had friends. Family. A sister, if I wasn’t mistaken. But he still went home at the end of the day and when he stepped inside the place he made for himself, his face fell.

So I looked into his past.

Looked into the memories I held of him.

When Malcolm was six he was at the stove. I could see him, up on a stool, his hair tucked up inside a hat as he stirred a pot of stew. There was a little girl playing on the floor of the kitchen, a rag doll in her hands.

“Hazel, you need to wash up before dinner,” he was saying to the girl.

“Why?” She looked up at him with the biggest eyes I had ever seen, clutching her doll close.

“‘Cause of germs. Go wash.”

Hazel looked at her doll, tucking the braided yarn strands of hair up under the doll's hood. “When’s mama going to be home?”

The boy, Malcolm, breathed in sharply. It was funny, though. Because I didn’t see the breath. But I could feel it as if it shook my very core.

“Not tonight. I’ll tuck you in though.”

“Will you snuggle me?”

He stepped off the stool and grabbed the bowls from the counter. “If you wash up. After dinner I will.” The girl ran off just like that, leaving the boy to dish up their meal. It was meager and one bowl had more in it than the other.

I frowned. That didn’t really tell me much.

The scene changed again. This time Malcolm was older. About ten or so. His sister was in front of him crying, her knee bloody.

“It’s okay, Hazel. Just take some deep breaths.”  He was taking a small gauze pad and dabbing it with something that made the girl cry even harder.  “I’ll get it all fixed up, okay?”

“They pushed me,” the little girl sobbed.

“Who?”

“The boy in the market. He said mama was a witch. Mama ain’t no witch.”

There was a look that crossed Malcolm’s eyes. And again, I could feel more than see his emotions. The way he tucked it inside.  Later, he would go and track down that boy. Scare him. Shove him down so not just his knee was split open.  He would then wash up and bring his sister ice cream for the evening.

“Why does everyone hate us?” Hazel cried to him.

Malcolm’s lips thinned. “Because people in this world don’t like what they don’t understand. And we are something that they don’t understand.”

She wiped at her cheeks. “Why?”

He sighed, placing a bandage on her knee. “I don’t know.”

“I just don’t want to see anyone anymore. Every time I go out they get worse and worse.”

He looked at her sharply. “No. Don’t say that. A few bad experiences does not negate the rest of the world.” Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “Don’t be like them. Offer understanding to the world. Even if it doesn’t always offer it back.”

When the scene changed, Malcolm was seventeen. His sister was smiling brightly as she sat in the middle of the park, paper animals rolling around at her feet. Malcolm was sitting back, watching her. Smiling.  Hazel was picking up the animals and snuggling them close.

“Mal! Come on! Come sit with me.”

“This is your birthday, Hazel.” He had saved up. Malcolm had worked for months, saving all of his money so he could rent out every exotic paper animal he could. And now he sat back, because in a moment, they would all burst into the air and become large. Hazel would get to ride an elephant. She would get to roll with the tigers. She would scream at the snake but Malcolm would take care of that quickly.

He was twenty four the next time around, walking into his own apartment and leaning heavily against the door. He had moved here by himself. No one had helped him. No one had even known he was moving. He had bought and paid for the place for himself.  Because everything he did in life, he did on his own. Never asking. Never seeking out someone to give him advice or comfort.

Sliding down to the ground, he covered his eyes, trying to hide his tears from even himself.  His heart was broken. Something had happened and he felt his heart split in two. And no one was here to comfort him.

I flashed back to the present as he walked through the streets. Hands in his pockets, confidence filtering across his face. I wanted to reach out to him. Tell him that he could talk to me if he wanted. But how? I could see him. I could see his world. But I couldn’t seem to do much more than that.

Then, it hit me.

The lights.

I began flashing the lanterns, trying to gain his attention. Frantically I blinked them at him. He looked up once but paid no attention to it. But the second time he looked up, he stopped. My Gatekeeper was smart, it seemed.

Tipping his head to the side, he stared at the string of lights, watching as I flicked them on and off, one by one.

“You and I friends or enemies?” he asked.

Friends. I wanted to tell him we were friends. I knew he had no one he had depended on in life but I wanted to be that for him. Or at the very least, be an ear for him.

I don’t know if he thought the lights were a fluke or if he had already forgotten, but he continued on down the street. I followed him, jumping from lantern to lantern, skipping across the alleyways and brightening the shadows for him.  Maybe putting some life into him. I saw the way his shoulders began to ease. The warmth from the lights above sinking into him and warming his bones.

He stopped just outside of the Spice District, the steam from the alleys heating the world around him and filling it with the rich scent of cardamon and smoked paprika.  I watched the lights play across his face, flickering against his tanned skin.

“You here to pick up those supplies for your sister?” A woman stood at the edge of the alley, surrounded by baskets of herbs.

“Yeah,” Malcolm said. “She said that the last cold front took out most of her crops.”

The woman tsked. “Poor thing. You sure you’re going to be able to carry it all yourself?”

Malcolm nodded. “I’ll take a few trips.”

“You’re too kind, Malcolm.” Her voice was soft. This was not the first time he had set his time aside for someone else.

“She’s my sister. Anything for her.”

Malcolm raised her.  I could see it now. How he took care of his sister. Tucked her in at night. Made sure she had enough food in her belly.  Made sure she was cared for and loved.

But who had done that for him?

“I’ll get your stuff. Just wait here. Maybe I can borrow a cart for you.”

“Thanks, Tara.”

When the vendor left to go find him a wagon for the supplies, Malcolm leaned against the wall. He looked tired. Run too thin.  I watched as he wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing his arms gently. The market was apparently still a little cold.  With everything I could, I put my energy into the lights near him, dipping the lanterns down closer to his shoulders.  He looked at them, eyeing the lanterns carefully.  He leaned towards them though. Subtly.  It felt like a victory.

He didn’t say anything. I watched him wait for the cart. Load it all up himself and start off towards his sisters. I wanted to follow him. Watch over him. I wanted to let him know that he didn’t have to do this all on his own.

But I was growing tired and the call for sleep was coming.

But as I stared at my new Gatekeeper, watching the weight of his life settling across his shoulders, I committed his face to my heart.  My Gatekeeper.

I wanted to show him that he was not alone.

The lanterns would always care.