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My friend is sad.
Actually, all my friends are sad, after the Bad Thing, but Gary especially. He hasn’t moved from his bed in days. He just sits on the edge, all slumped over with his elbows on his knees and chin tucked against his chest. Sometimes his breath catches, but mostly he stays quiet.
I’m worried about him. Don’t tell the others, but Gary’s my favorite—he gave me a name and a safe place to stay, not to mention all the one-sided conversations I could want. The others are acting a little strangely too, but I could handle it if their changes were permanent. I would be sad if Gary didn’t change back.
I already tried offering him a card game. I took the little red box of playing cards off the shelf with my feet and dropped it on the floor squarely within his line of sight. His head shifted a bit, and he reached for the box with one hand. He brought it to eye level, sighed, and set it next to himself on the bed. “Thanks, Mooncake, but I’m really not feeling it right now.”
I tried to get Quinn to talk to him, too, pantomiming my plan in front of her and tugging on her arm. She followed me down the hallway at first, but stopped after she saw that we were heading to Gary’s room. “Give him time, Mooncake,” she said, patting me between my antennae. “He’ll come around eventually.”
I protested, but she shook her head and walked back the way we came, rubbing her eyes as she turned away.
Now I’m getting desperate. Gary’s favorite things are playing cards and talking to Quinn. If those don’t work, Gary might stay like this forever. I don’t want that, absolutely not. I twitch around in the air as I try to figure out another possible cure for sadness. What if—what if—
That’s it! I let out a victory squeal and rocket through the Galaxy One’s connecting hallways to the mess hall. Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before?
I tumble through the air and smack against the glass of the cookie cabinet. I squeal again and right myself, wiggling my feet and antennae automatically. The cookies! If I bring Gary a cookie or three, he’ll feel better and won’t be sad anymore. It’s the perfect plan! (Or worth a shot, anyway.)
I explain this to H.U.E. as politely as I can. May I please bring a cookie to my friend Gary so he won’t be sad?
“I’m sorry, Mooncake, but I cannot allow you to do that,” he replies. “It’s against the rules.”
Even if he’s really, really, sad?
“I cannot make exceptions.”
You’re not being a very good friend, H.U.E.
“Being a ‘very good friend’ is not my function. My function is to--”
I ignore H.U.E.’s excuses and grip the handle of the cabinet between my feet. I pull, but the door stays closed. I try again, to no avail. Well, fine. I didn’t want to do this, but we can play hardball if you want.
I begin to glow when I hear H.U.E. sputter over the intercom. “Okay, Mooncake, there’s no need for that. I’ll get him.” Next comes a shipwide page for Gary: come to the mess hall right away. I return to my normal color but pout for dramatic effect. You better hope this works, H.U.E.
Gary stumbles in with redness around his eyes and nose. “What do you want, H.U.E.?” he demands, before spotting me trying to open the cookie cabinet with my feet for the third time.
He walks over to me and sniffles offhand. “What are you doing, Mooncake?”
“Chookity.” I yank as hard as I can, but lose my grip and fall backward. Gary catches me, squishing me with both hands on either side of my face.
“You were trying to get some cookies? For me?”
“Chookity-pah.” I try to make eye contact, but Gary avoids me.
“Why?”
Because I don’t want you to be sad anymore, duh.
Suddenly, I’m being constricted by human arms, pressed against Gary’s chest. Gary rests his forehead on me, and fluids start pouring from his various facial orifices. His breathing turns into sobbing, violent but cathartic. I stay still until his breathing evens out again.
Eventually the fluids stop and Gary lets me go, wiping at fluid residue on his cheeks. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” he says, finally looking at me. Red veins stand out against the whites of his eyes, but his expression feels brighter than it has been since the Bad Thing. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”
Really?
He sniffs again. “Yeah, the best. And don’t worry, I’ll be okay. But most importantly,” he says, fluid building up again, “I’m gonna keep you safe. No one’s even gonna take you away from me.”
I nod and go in for another hug, which Gary accepts without hesitation. “We’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
This time, more fluid escapes, but Gary remains calm otherwise. I think this might be the cure I was looking for.