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01!secrets
Norman had horrible scars on his scalp from his time in Lambda.
Ray found it when the three of them were having their first time together. Emma lied on the bed, giggling as Norman kissed her neck, Ray loomed above Norman, marking his way up his spine. It was as if everything had finally fell into place, all was well in the world and they were not going to cry again.
Until Ray reached up to ruffle Norman’s hair.
He had expected the soft, fluffy sensation he remembered from all those years ago, patting Norman’s hair like a pup when they were lying in the tree shade. The silky strands his hand missed for so long. Instead, he found that Norman’s hair wasn’t as thick and soft as it used to be, and under the thin layer of hair that was so carefully arranged was this gnarled, bumpy texture; with various-sized lumps and jagged suture scars.
Ray pulled his hand back, out of reflex from touching something unexpected than anything else, really. But he felt how Norman immediately tensed, and Ray’s heart stuttered with a rush of guilt.
“Ray, just kiss me,” Norman looked behind his back, a small smile tugged on his lips. A discreet warning that Ray had ventured into a place beyond the line. A place Norman wasn’t ready to share with Emma and Ray.
“Alright,” Ray mumbled, ignoring Emma’s questioning gaze. He didn’t want to make a fuss with an apology that Norman would refuse to acknowledge and ruined the mood.
They tried to resume what they were building. Kissing, squeezing, palpitating touches that left goosebumps in their wake. Yet it was certain that Norman was struggling to engage, until he finally collapsed on the bed, covered his eyes with both hands and started to sob.
“Norman,” Emma whispered, her voice caught in her throat.
“I’m sorry,” Norman gasped, still hiding his face from both of them. “I’m sorry I—I can’t—"
He pursed his lips tight to swallow his cries, but it ended up bubbled in his throat as if he was drowning. It hurt. It hurt to see him like this, and it hurt to not know what to do or what to say.
“Sssh … Norman, it’s okay. We’re here. It’s okay,” Ray and Emma mumbled the long-overused sentence, the word rolled out of their mouth so smooth it felt like a breath without meaning. They meant it. Of course they meant it. That they weren’t going to leave each other, that they’d be there for each other no matter what.
But in a time like this it felt much too arrogant to offer such comfort. After all, it was only themselves they could offer, not much more. They couldn’t take away each other’s pain. Their presence couldn’t magically make everything better again.
No matter how close they were to each other, some battles must still be fought alone.
They spent the rest of the night huddled together, Norman squeezed tight between them, crying his eyes to sleep.
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02!letters
Norman used to have his marvelous way with words.
They used to laugh and joke about it all the time, back when Emma and Norman hadn’t figured out the secret of the house. Ray was the one who read the most, but when it came down to writing comprehension, Norman was always ten steps ahead, as if he had eaten all the books in the library, rearranged them in his stomach, and spewed them on paper as a whole masterpiece.
Emma argued that it must had been his genius working. Ray knew better. It was Norman’s true gift, special only for him, more than just the sheer intelligence of the brain. Not even Mama, with four languages up her sleeves and more books in her read list that Ray could ever finish, could string beads of sentences as beautiful as Norman.
It was Norman’s artistic flair, and even though he was much too nice to brag about it, Ray knew it was something Norman was deeply proud of.
Back then, whenever someone’s birthday was coming up and they were preparing a bash, Norman was always in charge of the speech. When their younger siblings cried at night in the boy’s bedroom, Norman would invite them into his bed and weave for them right then and there colorful stories of dragon-riding princesses from a land under the earth, of a tower so high it reached the vaults of heavens, of aliens who communicated only in ideograms.
Ray listened to all of it from his own bed, charmed by the magic his friend possessed. It was one of the rare times when he felt like a little boy again.
Now however the magic had faded. No more stories of valiant princesses, no more concise letters detailing plans, not even something as short yet powerful as I’ll show you something cool. Sometimes, Norman even struggled with the simplest of ideas, as if the words stuck inside his skull as his brain filter was unable to figure out which word was appropriate to use.
“No, this is not right. This isn’t what I want to say.”
Norman punched the (x) button on his holographic file and swept the empty document angrily. Before it landed in the overflowing virtual bin, he already typed in a new document, muttering all to himself, deleting a few lines right after he wrote them only to retype them again.
“How about we try again tomorrow? Maybe today’s not your writing day,” Emma cajoled, tugging his arm gently. Norman swatted her away. He was too caught up in his work to catch the hurt look crossing over her face.
“Emma, the hearing is tomorrow. I need to finish this letter before it started,” Norman muttered as if Emma was some sort of a fool. He pressed his thumb to the center of his forehead so hard Ray was afraid it would bruise.
“Well, how about writing your key points instead? You’ll come to the hearing anyway, so you can tell them your thoughts directly,” Ray reasoned, followed by Emma’s eager nod.
“No. If I can’t even write them now, how do you expect me to say it tomorrow? Key points have no use—there’re going to be things I forget to say and then it’s all over for us. We’re going to lose the custody of our own siblings!”
“We can still ask for an appeal,” Emma tried again, “We have the whole Minerva Alliance to help us, and we’ve been winning a lot these days. It will be alright.”
It gained her the opposite effect. Norman snapped something very rude about her and Ray; which almost caused her to retaliate. She took a deep breath instead, clenching Ray’s hand so hard it hurt, her eyes a dagger to the holographic screen like she wanted to disperse it with the power of her glare alone.
Ray sighed. It would have been strange a few years ago, having Norman throwing his frustration on them like this, but it had been a routine now for the better or worse that he got somewhat immune to it. Emma had a harder time adjusting, but it was to be expected. It used to be so easy for her to have Norman back from whatever exile he inflicted upon himself. He used to listen to her and reached out for her. Now when things should have been getting better, Norman was withdrawing into himself and not even her charming words could coax him out.
Ray glanced at the clock blinking on the right corner of the holoscreen. Thirty minutes after midnight. The hearing was going to be held at 7 a.m; and with this progress chances were Norman (or any of them, for that matter) wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.
And the worse thing was that Norman wasn’t exaggerating about not getting his points across. Ray had been helping him with the damn pleidooi letter for nearly eight hours now. He didn’t want to admit it, but Norman’s letter was indeed a mess. Even now, Emma and Ray still hadn’t figured out what he actually wanted to deliver, and as they tried and failed to guess, Norman became more and more upset.
“It’s all right here. I have everything I want to say here. Why can’t I just get them out?” Norman lamented, pulling at his hair. Emma pried his hands away before he hurt himself further, hugging him and rocking him gently.
“It’s okay,” there came the much-anticipated chant, “It will be alright. Don’t get yourself worked up, okay? We’ll finish this together. Don’t worry.”
As Emma whispered calming reassurances, Norman sobbing in her embrace; Ray wondered if the word-missing sickness wasn’t only affecting Norman after all. He wondered if it got all three of them, caging them in a state of speechlessness and empty repetition, not being able to articulate this suffocating, throat-eating weight in their hearts.
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03!devil
Norman cried a lot these days.
And he picked a fight with them a lot these days, too.
Emma understood. She really did. The transition period to the human world took a toll on him, much worse than it did her and Ray (and by god it was already so hard on her she sometimes felt like screaming).
It wasn’t like they didn’t predict something like this would happen. Once she knew that they were cattle children specifically raised in the demon world to be eaten, that there was another world separated from the one she lived in where humans lived freely, that the separation between the worlds was secured with an ancient promise; she knew that crossing to the human world wasn’t the happy end yet. It was just the beginning of another challenging journey.
What caught them off guard, perhaps, was the severity of the challenge. The animosity that they received from fellow humans, the accusations, the paranoia. They landed on the human world stateless and clueless, hundreds of something children with a handful of mamas, and the first thing that happened to them was being herded like cows to containment facilities, separated from each other without means of contact.
Days went by before the surviving Minerva allies, been moving underground for years to avoid Peter Ratri’s watchful eyes, managed to meet them at all. Weeks passed before their case was brought up to attention, and by the end of the complicated procedures, countless of hearings, dozens of pages of documents, only thirteen-something children was allowed to move to the Minerva allies’ facilities and foster homes.
Thirteen, out of hundreds, minus the many Lambda children whom they lost in the process due to the untreated sickness.
Emma still remembered how Anna cried in one of the hearings, how she begged to be at least allowed to continue the research. They were so close to complete it, so close to finding the cure. She could have prevented more deaths.
They gave her the permission to continue the research, but that wasn’t the end of it. After the cure was completed, she wasn’t allowed to distribute it—not even solely for the lambda children—because it was an unauthorized medicine. Another batch of hearings, another boxes of paperwork, another set of countless waiting days; in which more children were dying and the world didn’t seem to care.
These weren’t the kind of challenges one could overcome simply by being a perfect scorer with genius tactics. It was them against the system, the world, and the apathy of unknowing hearts. Even good people, the Minerva allies who dedicated so much time and effort to help them sometimes couldn’t do much; the voice of the sympathizers met with the sturdy walls of faceless authorities.
The cattle children were doomed in the world they’ve spent the better part of their lives fighting for.
It had been four years since they moved into the human world. Things were steadily moving forward, though in such a slow snail pace, with occasional downfalls that forced them to start from the bottom again. This was life now, Emma concluded, and maybe their life was meant for a struggle.
Norman survived. Of all the Lambda children, only him remained, out of sheer stubbornness, she’d say. By the time Anna got the license for her medicine, he was already in a deep coma. But he regained consciousness, and was getting better, though they all knew he would never be as healthy as he could have been.
Though he had to rely on countless drugs and injections to survive, and sometimes, a lot of times, the stress and the frustration over it all got the better of him.
“I’m so sorry, Emma,” Norman mumbled into her chest as they nestled together in bed. It was one of the bad days, he was burning up and couldn’t keep anything down since morning that they had to hook him to an IV. The time when he was stronger than that had long since pass.
She combed his sweaty bangs and kissed his forehead. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Norman. Just rest, okay? You’ll be better once you sleep it off.” Hopefully. Hopefully it wasn’t some kind of lungs infection like last month. That was close.
Norman sighed. “I … didn’t mean to be sick again.”
“Of course you don’t,” Emma chuckled, hugging him tighter. He was taller than her still, but the weight he lost seemed to never been replaced. She never got used to the jagged lines of his bones. “No one’s ever planning to get sick. Well, except the little ones, when they try to skip schools.”
Norman chuckled, which turned into a wet cough. Emma caressed his back in a circular motion to ease the pain, while her heart ached with each of his wheeze.
“I’m sorry, it must have been such a bother for you,” Norman’s voice sounded muffled as he hid his face in her chest. He did a lot of it these days, too. When he was feeling vulnerable, he’d hid himself from Emma and Ray. Sometimes he’d went out for a walk (which almost always guaranteed him a bedrest-level sickness the next day), sometimes he holed up in their old cottage’s library, reading or just crying. When he couldn’t escape from them like this, he simply covered his face.
Emma understood that sometimes one needed a privacy when they cried. She understood that sometimes, the attempt to comfort them would hurt them more. But it hurt when Norman did it, it hurt when he shied away from her, as if she hadn’t showed him thousands of times that she was here, and always will be here, for him.
“It isn’t, Norman. You’re never a bother.”
“But I am.”
“Norman ….”
“You—you could have done a lot of things out there,” Norman muttered bitterly, “You and Ray could have done so much more, see the world, help the others. But you’re stuck here, taking care of me. You couldn’t do a lot of things because of me.”
There it was again. She didn’t know when it started, and sometimes she regretted the fact that she wasn’t able to stop the seed before it grew: Norman’s verbal self-loathing, said with so much venom it was as if he said it to punish her instead of telling how he was feeling.
It was not uncommon, the doctors told her, for a sick person to do such thing. It was the anger, helplessness, and guilt. Norman had been miserable for so long that he couldn’t help but doing it. Maybe he was trying to ease his guilt by admitting that he knew he was a burden (unheeding to Emma and Ray’s conviction); not realizing that he hurt them in the process.
Or maybe he realized it. Maybe Norman realized that hearing him badmouthing himself was painful to Ray and Emma; so he kept doing it to give away some of his own pain. When a thought like this popped in her head, Emma stepped on it violently until it was nothing but shadows.
Norman, the sweet, selfless, kind Norman; would never do it. He had never done it before, preferring to swallow his own pain than letting the others knew, and he hadn’t changed. It was just the sickness speaking. And even if he did want the others to at least bear a bit of his pain, was he at fault? He had been suffering so much! Couldn’t he be just a bit selfish for once? Surely it was better than expecting him to bottle it all up until he exploded?
Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had been overthinking things lately. There used to be a time when she took everything on a stride. When her friends were sad, she comforted them. When someone was in need, she helped them. Because that was what you do, no questions asked. When Norman was in pain, she should have done everything in her might to ease it instead of wondering about his motives.
Maybe she was weary. All of them was. Maybe she was disappointed that she still had to fight, and fight, and fight her way to a happy end even after all of this.
In her embrace, Norman started to sob. Again. He’d been crying so much lately; and when he didn’t, he seemed to purposely ticked Emma and Ray’s nerves. As if he wanted them to leave him. As if, had they hated him, then it was a proof that he had been a deadweight to them all these years.
As if he thought somehow that everything they had done, been doing for him, was just for a show.
“Norman, look at me,” Emma cupped Norman’s sticky wet cheeks, forcing him to look up. Norman’s eyes were glazy and red. The crying had clogged up his nose too and now he was breathing through his mouth, hot and sickly. “Don’t say things like that.”
“But it’s true ….”
“If the situation was reversed, if I get really sick, will you leave me? Will you think of me as a burden?”
A rotten trick. Emma had to make a conscious effort not to wince. On better days she would have picked better words. She would have been kinder. She wouldn’t want to see Norman’s eyes widened like that, filled with fear and dawned understanding as he realized he had hurt her, or her taking his words the wrong way.
“No! Of course not—”
“Then why do you think we’ll do such thing?”
But Norman had been sick since morning, all because he decided, against Emma and Ray’s warnings, to pull an all-nighter writing an argument for yet another hearing; which he ended up unbale to attend anyway due to his high fever, and whose result wasn’t satisfactory, according to Ray’s short message a while ago.
Emma was tired, and Norman too. He needed to rest. If being crude to him was what it thought then so be it. She will wail in her guilt later, once he was asleep.
Norman didn’t answer. He just snuggled deeper into Emma’s embrace and cried, a quiet, sniffled sob.
“Hey, Norman?”
“Hmmm?”
“We won’t leave you. We love you, Norman. Do you understand that?”
“….”
“Norman.”
“ … I’m sorry, Emma.”
Emma kissed the top of his forehead. “Yeah. I’m sorry too.”
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04! future
Emma and Ray wrung themselves so thoroughly Norman was afraid they’d tear apart at the seams.
It broke his heart, watching those two. They’ve been out of that other world for years now, but traces of it trailed behind them like ghosts that couldn’t be banished away.
Ray’s insomnia had grown so severe that now whenever Norman woke up from his light slumber, plagued by sickness dreams, Ray was almost always by his side, ready to tend for him. The black bags under his eyes were as permanent as the eyes itself, at some point Ray must have had accepted it as a part of him instead of trying to fix his sleeping schedule.
Emma herself didn’t realize it, but she was as high-strung and tense as she could be. She was in this perpetual fight or flight mode, being hyper aware of her surrounding to the point that staying in a big city with all its noise overwhelmed her. She got restless when taking a stroll in the noisy city park, because she couldn’t hear the sound of an approaching danger. She slept with alert ears, jerking awake to the sound of spoon dropping to the floor.
When walking down the street, they had this habit of glancing around and back, checking for the perimeter. There weren’t child-eating demons out here, but the gesture had ingrained in their brain anyway, unable to let go.
And then there was Norman.
Norman, who was now a part of their problems, along with the endless trials over the cattle children’s right and citizenship, along with the number of missing children—the ones they had fought so hard to save only to be taken away to gods know where by strangers. Norman who felt like he just couldn’t get better, no matter what Anna and the doctors said.
Norman wished he could just get his shit together. Emma and Ray were having it hard too. Everyone was having it hard, but he was the only one who couldn’t pull it off. Every day was the same lingering pain, living the life like walking on eggshells not knowing when he was going to relapse.
Emma and Ray had been fighting too hard and too long. They didn’t deserve this—the continued obstacles from the human world, the hatred, the helplessness. They deserved a better world, a world that Norman kept in mind when he poured everything he had to deliver, a world he envisioned when he was screaming for help.
A world that they still hadn’t reached, even after running for so long.
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05! owls
Norman was awake, his owlish eyes looking at him in the dark.
“Ray, aren’t you tired?”
Emma was sleeping curled on the couch, her quiet snore the only hushed sound in the room. Ray was reading in the light of the bedside lamp, and when he looked up Norman was already staring at him.
“No, I’m fine,” Ray smiled, stroking Norman’s eyebrow. He had resorted to it now as a gesture of affection, still hadn’t had the courage to touch Norman’s head again. Norman closed his eyes, leaning into his touch.
“I’m tired,” he whispered, voice paper thin.
“Then go back to sleep. It’s still 2 a.m. in the morning.”
Norman’s eyes snapped open. They swam into each other’s eyes in silence, knowing without words that it wasn’t that kind of tiredness Norman was having. It wasn’t something he could slept off. And if it was that kind of tiredness he was talking about, the kind that filled his mornings with washed out hope that maybe today was their good day, only to end it with another despair; then yes, Ray was tired too. Had been tired for longer than he cared to count, for counting only exhausted him more.
He just had to lift his chin now and moved forward, until they reached a place to rest.
“It will be fine,” Ray blurted out. A mantra, now. Could he possibly word it better? Did they still believe it?
“Mmm,” Norman hummed, looking away. The IV’s drip chamber tinkled as it hit the metal pole. Norman had consumed nearly three bags of fluid since the first time he fell sick three days ago. Anna had recommended hospital care when his fever didn’t go down, but hospitals and their sterile smell made Norman nervous, even though he didn’t say it out loud. Ray would know, he watched how Norman tossed and turned in the hospital bed, plagued by the nightmare of his untold past.
Ray draw a circle on Norman’s thumb and cleared his throat to get his attention. “By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it. The nonexistent is whatever we have not sufficiently desired.”
Norman turned his head toward him, bemused yet slightly intrigued. “What?”
“Franz Kafka said so,” Ray shrugged. Norman snorted.
“Must be an optimistic guy. Emma would like him.”
“No, actually, he’s kinda nihilist. His view of the world is, quote, one of the first signs of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die, unquote.”
“Really,” Norman shook his head completely amused now, “must have been someone’s favorite quote, once upon a time.”
“Still one of my favorites, honestly,” Ray smiled, “Guy’s got quite a few things to say. You should read him sometime.”
“Yeah, that would be great. I could use to read some new books.”
They fell into a calm, comfortable silence. The rain suddenly fell, a hushed noise on the roof. Ray thought of the unkept garden behind the cottage, the dry leaves covering its ground and the broken flower pots, the bushes now reddening in the fall.
Maybe it was time for him to take a break. A day or two would suffice. Maybe he’d persuade Norman for gardening, a bit of fresh air would be good for him.
“Ray?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you believe it? By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it. Do you really believe that?”
The rain was getting heavier. A muffled thunderclap in the distance. Once upon a time, in a different life and different world, Norman used to crawl into his bed on a night like this. Norman had always been scared of loud noise, and he was more terrified to face it alone.
“Well. Belief is one of the most powerful organic forces in the multiverse. It may not be able to move mountains, exactly. But it can create someone who can.”
“Right. And whose words is that this time?”
“Terry Pratchett.”
Norman rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you just use your own words?”
“I’m not good with words.”
“It doesn’t have to be good. I want to hear what Ray thinks about it.”
“Well,” Ray smiled, combing Norman’s bangs back and kissed his forehead. His fever had gone down. Finally. “We’ve heard it a thousand times, haven’t we?”
It’s okay, Norman.
We’re here for you. we’ll get through this together, okay?
Here, hold my hand. It will pass.
I love you, Norman.
We love you. Stay with us.
That was all they could say. Ray was still searching something better, but maybe no better words could have been said. It felt empty sometimes, it felt fake and cold. But it wasn’t. it wasn’t because they meant it.
Of course they meant it.
As long as we’re together, it will be fine.
“Mnm .. Why aren’t you guys sh—sleepin’?”
Emma yawned as she rose up from her light sleep, walking up to them with eyes half-closed. She plopped down next to Ray and put her head on Norman’s blanket-covered feet.
“Sorry, Emma. Didn’t mean to wake you,” Norman said, reaching down to pat her. She waved her hand sleepily.
“’S okay. What are you two talking about?”
Norman and Ray looked at each other and smiled. “Nothing. Just some guys named Kafka and Pratchett.”
“Oh, I know Kafka. The cockroach guy.”
Ray actually laughed at this. “Yes, sleepy-head. The cockroach guy.”
Frowning, Emma was trying, and failing, to get the gear of her brain to connect the dots. “And what does he have to do with the other guy? Prat-chett?”
“Well, I think Ray would agree that they wrote the best books,” Norman smiled, “and they both believed in … believing. Belief is one of the most powerful organic forces in the multiverse. It may not be able to move mountains, exactly. But it can create someone who can. By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it.”
Emma smiled loopily. “Kudos for the misters, then. We are the testament of that, aren’t we?” The end of her sentence was mumbled almost intelligible as sleep claimed her once more, but they understood her anyway.
Of course they understood. It was something that gave them a glimmer of hope each day, every day, in this seemingly unending road to absolute happiness.
Didn’t we survive this far that way?
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06! king
Norman loved clocks and mechanical toys.
Emma was reminded of it when it was her time for grocery shopping.
They could have done it from home through this neat portal-like technology where you punch in your orders and they sent it to you in a matter of minutes. But it was nearing the end of winter, between works and the disputes and taking care of Norman she hadn’t had the time to actually enjoy herself, and Ray was taking a break from work. So Emma picked her coat and scarf, made a grocery list, and off she went to the town breathing the cold, dry, fragrant air.
The last bit of snow dusted everything in powdery white. It was beautiful.
She walked past an antique shop, the last few of its kind, with its classic non-holographic display windows and actual music boxes displayed. There was one she particularly interested in, a doom-shaped desk clock with tiny mechanical dolls in it, the ones that would dance once every fifteen minutes. The image of the young Norman fiddling with clocks during his sick days sprung in her mind, warming her heart.
“And I got it at half the initial price! It’s a good deal, isn’t it?”
Ray glowered, which only meant that the half price was still much too steep for him. Norman, however, already put the thing upside down, trying to figure out how to disassemble it.
“Oh, they still use the screw fastening technique! And a winding key! Now that’s neat, we didn’t even have much of this kind back then, remember?”
Emma and Ray glanced at each other. Ray shrugged and threw her a lopsided smile which meant, at least someone’s happy, and they joined Norman on the sofa, sitting on either side of him until their legs touched.
“Yeah, most of our clocks back in Grace Field are battery-powered.”
“Think you can fix it?” Emma asked, knocking the transparent glass dome curiously with her fingernail. Part of the reason she could bargain for it down to the half price was because the seller believed it was just a fancy-looking junk. Nobody wanted a broken clock, no matter how fancy it was, but well, Norman was not a nobody.
Norman hummed. “Provided that we have the spare parts, I think I can.”
“Okay, then I’ll get you the spare parts! Which do you need?”
“Emma, you spoil him too much.”
“Says someone who always cook Norman’s favorite food over mine.”
“Hey, Norman needs appetizing food to get back on his feet. You, on the other hand, will devour everything ….”
“Oh, so I have to ditch my meal to make you make me that crème brulee?”
“Don’t you dare challenging me like that, young lady—”
“I am so challenging you, young man!”
Norman chuckled at their antics, which then evolved into an exuberant laughter. It had been so long since they heard him laughing like this, so delicate and free, even at the price of a coughing fit at the end of it. Emma and Ray caressed his back then kissed his cheeks.
“You really ought to make us some crème brulee, Ray,” Norman said, nuzzling into Ray’s neck. “It does sound delicious.”
“It is delicious!” Emma pouted, hugging Norman’s waist.
“Alright, alright. Crème brulee for today’s evening snack. How’s that?”
“That sounds great.”
“That’s it? That’s all it took for him to get it? I’ve been requesting you for weeks! And you said I spoil him too much!”
Ray stuck his tongue. Emma stuck hers back. Norman cackled again, and in excitement Ray ruffled his hair in adoration, only to freeze in an awkward second as he realized what he had done. His widened eyes met with Emma’s equally panicked ones.
And yet.
And yet, Norman didn’t flinch away as he used to. The gnarled texture on his scalp tickled Ray’s palm as he moved closer.
“I mean, it is a given I’m the one being spoiled the most. I am your emperor, am I not?” Norman joked light heartedly, putting the clock on the table and looped his arms around them. Emma and Ray melted in his embrace, a mixture of love and relief.
“Yes. Yes, you are.”
It was a day nearing the end of winter. Everything was dusted in thin coat of snow and it was beautiful; and they peppered Norman with kisses.
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07!birthday
Norman’s birthday was on the 21st of March.
Emma remembered all the times she celebrated it with him, and the two times she didn’t.
He was three years old when Mama gave him his very first birthday bash. Emma, being only two and a half, didn’t actually remember the age; but she knew it anyway. It was the tradition of the Grace Field House to celebrate the children’s birthday starting at the age of three, or as Mama called it, the age of understanding.
She, however, remembered Norman, dressed this cute baby blue suit, bow tie and all. He cocked his head to the side like a baby owl as a mock ceremony was held to graduate him from the high chair and into the “big kid chair”. An older sibling whose name had slipped past Emma’s memory helped Norman blew the candle since Norman’s own blow was still too weak, and they sang for him Happy Birthday.
Emma got fussy soon after, because she wanted to be in the big kid chair too. Whenever she remembered that event, a small nostalgic smile tugged on Emma’s lips, her fingers unconsciously pressed on each other, imagining them pinching Norman’s soft chubby cheeks in adoration.
And then, of course, the 11th birthday. A birthday she and the rest of the House worked so hard on, a birthday that even then, before she found out the truth about the House, had been half a farewell; though it was a farewell brimming with the hope of a reunion, of them meeting again as adults dressed in colorful clothes.
They dressed Norman in blue again, that day. Instead of a baby owl, he looked more like a prince. In a coral gown and hair extension Emma was supposed to be his princess, but she couldn’t stay still in such graceful attire. You looked more like a brute knight in disguise, was how Ray teased her. She clobbered his head as Norman laughed, a little prince laughing at the jesters’ show.
Out of his birthdays they celebrated, Emma was most grateful for that last one, even more so knowing that Norman had been enjoying it so much too. On the days that followed his departure, at night when she laid on the forest bed staring at the starless sky, on his 12th birthday in which she hugged Ray and cried; she replayed Norman’s smile from that wondrous, wondrous night.
She thought she was giving Norman a gift he never received before—a surprise. She never knew until she lost him that he too had given her something precious back, that look of childish bewilderment and gentle smile which she treasured so much, thinking that she would never find it again.
And yet, she did.
She found him back.
And just as she did Ray, she felt an even greater feeling toward him, this instinct to keep them by her side. They grew up, their feelings to each other took shape into something new yet a lot more solid than the confusion they used to have as teenagers. The understanding came: they were not meant to be one pair and a lone soul, left behind. They were made one set, the three of them together; and within that patch, the celebration of Norman’s birthday was a settled obligation.
They missed his birthday twice. It was more than enough.
The first time they celebrated his birthday in the human world, Norman was so pumped with medication he barely understood what was happening. Emma and Ray sat by his bedside, reading him Around the World in 80 Days, taking him into the characters’ journey until, at the end of the book, they won the wager.
“Get well soon, Norman. When you’re well, we’re taking you to Bombay on a steamer.”
“And to Allahabad, riding elephants.”
“In Yokohama, we’ll ride the hot air balloon.”
Norman woke up sixteen days later, his eyes limpid for the first time in so long, and the first thing he asked was, “So, are we going to board the steamer now?”
They hadn’t had time to do it until this day, but the promise was still there to keep. One day.
“So, what’s the birthday boy wants for his special day?”
Then, all of sudden, it was Norman’s fifth birthday in the human world. Not so sudden when they looked back and see all the mess they’ve been through, but his birthday had become some sort of a marking point. They reached this birthday too, against all odds. It looked like a long journey before they started it, and yet now they were here, just like that.
Norman scratched his cheek and smiled shyly. Ray had put on him a birthday hat, Emma insisted him to wear the ridiculously ugly sweater Don got him for Christmas. Not that it mattered. Emma and Ray too wore horrendous outfits, it was their dress code for this year’s birthday.
“Well,” Norman started, as Ray lit the candles for him, “I wish that … the court cases are settled soon, and we’re going to get the custody of our siblings ….”
Ray huffed impatiently. “Yes, yes. Of course you wish for it. We all do, and we’re working for it. But this is your day. Ask something for yourself.”
Norman pouted. “But that’s for myself too! I’d be happiest if we get all of our siblings to safety!”
“But that’s the happiness you’d share with everyone.”
“Well, what’s wrong with sharing happiness with everyone?”
Ray groaned. “You’re being difficult on purpose. You know what I mean. Emma, you tell him.”
Emma chuckled as Norman shared with her a mischievous grin. “Well, I think that wish is valid too.”
“See!”
“Oh, come on!”
“Buut,” Emma drawled her word cutely as she put her head on Norman’s knees, “That’s a long-term wish. We’re working to make it not-so-long term, of course, but how about a short time wish? One we can get you immediately?” She winked.
Norman bit his lower lip, suppressing a smile. He closed his eyes as if in a pray, and then, as he opened it, he blew the candle before Emma and Ray got a chance to react.
“Hey! You haven’t told us your wish!”
“It’s a short-term wish. If you know me so much, you’d know,” Norman said, almost challengingly. Ray glowered.
“Okay, give us some clue, then?”
“Hmm … It’s something that you do to me every day, and I wish you’d do it always.”
“Do to you?” Emma repeated suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows. Norman laughed.
“Not that one. Although … I wouldn’t mind doing that too,” Norman mumbled, the tip of his ears growing red. It was adorable, how he was still so shy about it even after all this time. Maybe because they didn’t do it as often as they wished they could, maybe because Norman still felt uncomfortable most of the times, exposing himself like that, no matter how much Emma and Ray convinced him. Maybe it wasn’t something that needed convinction from the other parts. Like many other wounds, maybe it was something Norman had to work out by himself. Emma and Ray could only wait, ready at call for him when he needed.
“That’s great. Maybe we can do something tonight,” Ray nudged Norman’s ear gently with his nose. Norman chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, and had they were other people that would’ve led them into an awkward silence.
But they were meant to be a set, all three of them, and they had learned how to maneuver around each other.
“And I know what you want right now,” Ray continued, eyes gleaming, grinning like a naughty child. Norman blinked owlishly at him, feigning innocence, while Emma caught the gist.
“Oh, I know too! You want—”
“Kisses!”
They yelled in unison and attacked Norman all at once, peppering him with kisses on all place they could touch. Norman laughed until tears rolled down his reddening cheeks, yelling them to stop, but he didn’t mean it anyway as he pulled them closer until their breaths mingled together.
Norman’s birthday was on the 21st of March. The date was the marking of their journey, and though there was still a long road ahead, they’d be holding hands toward the future they dreamed of, stumbling together and got back up again, together and always will be.
.
.
.
I wish that Emma and Ray will stay with me, until the rest are rust and stardust.