flying boots

i am getting ready for a visit from the new supernatural nephew. this is not because he has called me and mentioned such a trip nor is it because he mentioned this trip to me while i was visiting in december. it is because his accomplice, his sidekick, a quiet boy he shares a babysitter with, packed up his bag the other day and when asked where he was going answered confidently that he was on his way to see the sweetie and me. now, this accomplice has never met me, never met the sweetie. he does not know us even a little, but he is willing to pack himself a bag and fly off to what i am sure he calls "the big city" on the word of his pal, the nephew. he has been told many things. some of them are probably even a little bit true. the city is, after all, very big and full of almost all things.

the nephew will get around to telling us he's coming, i'm sure. he will call early in the morning or sometime late at night when he thinks everyone else has gone to bed. his parents go to bed with the chickens, but there is a new member of the household, the youngest uncle, just starting college and living in a new country. he will not be asleep. the supernatural nephew thinks he knows plenty but he does not know the ways of boys who are in college and one of the things he will learn is that they are nocturnal animals. his uncle will hear the whispering but because he knows things the supernatural child does not know, he will let it pass. he will not tell the parents nor will he confront the child about late night phone calls. there is much the child does not yet know about his own instruction in supernaturalness, but his uncle is well aware. why do you think he is living there in that house, across the hall from the small child? protection. instruction. you didn't really think he came halfway across the world for school.

the uncle will pretend to be asleep and the child will call and will whisper to me about the trip, about how he and his hapless sidekick will be flying. and i will snarl about how they shouldn't fly alone, how they shouldn't fly in the dark or in bad weather and he will laugh softly, but for a long time. he has already built a little basket for carrying the sidekick (who does not yet know how to fly) and all their important things. a backpack for each. musical instruments. chocolate. there will be more arguing. the sweetie will turn over in his sleep and will ask who is calling. when i tell him, he will grab the phone from my hand and will ask in his not yet awake voice how much bacon the kid likes with breakfast. guthrie will kick in his sleep and the child on the other end of the line a thousand miles away will laugh again and promise a whole bunch of love to us all and will say, "see you tomorrow morning!" he will want lots of bacon.

and there will be nothing that can be done about that. he will arrive with his accomplice and we will be glad. he will fly through the latest, darkest, coldest part of the night on purpose because he is learning new things and he likes the challenge of putting them all together. i do not particularly like this sort of thing, but i do remember a time when i did, when i put myself in places i shouldn't have because i wanted to see if i could figure out what to do. now, that doesn't mean he isn't going to hear about it from me. a child his age flying off into the middle of the night without really letting anyone know anything specific is not the sort of child you want to take responsibility for, not even temporarily and for a few days. but we will.

and when he comes down out of the sky and taps on the kitchen window (he will land on the fire escape just for the drama of it. he will never be satisfied with doing things the way others do them when there are more unusual options.) we will raise the window and the screen and will put a thick towel down on top of the radiator in front of the sill because if we don't, he will, in all his little boy excitement, scorch himself. you see, for all his knowledge of the world, he does not know radiators. the houses he spends his time in, his own, his cousin's, his grandparents', his babysitter's, all were built during my lifetime and do not have such unusual things. he will land in brooklyn with a shivering and sleepy child in a basket and he will have much to learn.

i can guarantee he will arrive around 5am and the sweetie, staggering and still asleep, will put a fire under a skillet and will start the bacon. i will get out the eggs and put on water for tea. the supernatural child will take the butter tray from the fridge and will set it on the radiator to warm for the toast. everyone will have a glass of milk with a little vanilla in it. there will be eating and hugging and laughing, but there is a reason the child will visit. he has something in mind. when i was visiting him in december i made what will on this day of his arrival seem like the very reckless decision to show him my flying boots, let him use them enough that he could tell he wanted to know more. and he is happy to see the sweetie. he is happy to see the small dog curled up on the couch with his back feet twitching over his nose through a dream. he is happy to see me. but what he wants is a flying lesson. he has come to see the boots.