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Your first memory: Lil Cal, sitting in a puddle of the sunlight that beats through your window. His false teeth gleam, turning the harsh light into a soft, beautiful gold. His clothes and shoes reflect tones of jewel and ivory. His eyes are unblinkingly focused on yours. You reach out with your pudgy child's hands and he bends when you close your fists, molding to your hold. It's the first time you understand the meaning of softness.
Your guardian's voice is as familiar to you as the sound of the ocean or the cries of the gulls. You listen to it on repeat, learning the stops and stammers of his sentences, the gliding murmur of his words. His cadence and inflection are your first lessons in music. You think that's why you develop an affinity for rap, the natural push and pull of the human voice unaided, flowing and ebbing like the tide.
Your guardian never mentions Lil Cal. He mentions everything else in the small apartment—the orange soda, the shitty unbreakable katanas, the movie paraphernalia, the turntables. Your companion looms large by omission. How could you miss him? you think as you lie in your bed with Lil Cal in your arms. How could you forget?
You bury your face in Lil Cal's plush torso, and longing pounds through you until you feel wrung out and hollow. When you lift your head, Lil Cal's shirt is wet, but he hasn't let go of you for a minute. He never leaves your side, and while he may not always stay where you've put him, he always appears right where you need him. He's as reliable as clockwork.
You stare at his fixed, gaping grin, and after a moment you smile gratefully back.
Lil Cal's arms are looped around your neck, a familiar weight against your throat as you stare at the Crockercorp armada above you.
You reach up and place your hand over his. “Watch my back,” you say.
His legs thump rhythmically against your back as you whirl and slice and dodge. He's not your subordinate or creation but still he protects you, looks out for you. It's more than your guardian ever gave you, but then again, only one of them is long dead.
He's gone when you enter the medium, and you think, maybe this means you don't need him anymore. Maybe it means you're finally an adult.
You want to feel proud, but your hands just feel empty.