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Bachira Meguru is not an old soul.
When he was younger, he would overhear parents gossip and praise their children for being so well behaved and mature. He would hear people throw around that phrase ‘old soul' like it was a compliment.
He would also hear others whisper about how immature he was.
It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t pay attention. Things like lectures were boring, and he didn’t like the schoolyard games his peers would play. The fact that he struggled to stand still, or he often went overboard during creative assignments didn’t make him immature. It made him interesting. It made him different.
But… no one likes you when you’re different. No one likes you when you’re better than them at something. It’s bad enough that only the Monster wants to play with him, but now even adults look down on him for being too slow, too disruptive, too annoying.
Sleeping in class with his thumb in his mouth? He’s acting puerile. Laughing and giggling at bright, colorful children’s shows? He’s embarrassing. Wanting to draw pretty pictures on his assignments rather than doing pointless and boring equations? He’s uncooperative.
So, Bachira Meguru is not an old soul, and that’s just another thing that makes him lonely. And he hates being lonely more than anything else.
If you asked him, being alone is worse than dying. If you die, you’ll either get a chance to restart, in a life that is much less sad, or you’ll never feel loneliness ever again. If you’re alive, well, you have to dread that feeling every day.
You have to watch the clock tick in slow motion from where you sit in the front of the classroom, the teacher’s gaze never quite leaving the way you’re clearly not paying attention. You have to frown when you shiver from the cold, bored while you run passes to a friend that you’ve never really had. You have to pick at your food with a pair of chopsticks that don’t quite fit in your hand while you sit in a room that’s chalked full of people and, yet, seems like the closest one is miles away.
Day in and day out. Rinse and repeat. Over and over again.
All because he’s a little different. His mother thinks it’s good that he’s different. It makes him “special” and “fun to be around” but none of that matters if there’s no one to talk to or play with.
It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. What good is there to being yourself if you aren’t good enough for other people? What good is the Monster if the only thing that cares about you is a monster that doesn’t exist?
One week. Bachira decided that, for one week, he wouldn’t be Bachira Meguru. He wouldn’t be the immature child that everyone expects him to be. He would grow up. He would be what he’s supposed to be. He would quiet the Monster down.
It starts out easy enough.
Bachira isn’t known for keeping his head down and out of trouble, but it isn’t particularly difficult to bite his lip and pretend that the graphs on the chalkboard are just really dumb soccer plays.
By the end of class, he actually thinks his homeroom teacher is impressed with him, shocked that he was able to spend an entire day being studious.
He spends his lunch period in the library, trying to catch up on assignments that were due weeks ago. The place is mostly empty, just filled with a handful of students typing away at their laptops or scribbling answers into homework they waited too long to finish. Somehow, the silence feels no different to the cafeteria’s roar.
He comes home with a skip in his step, happily chattering to his mother about his day in excessive detail. Bachira Yuu takes to his, rather sudden, burst of joyful moods easily. She seems just as happy as he is, smiling in a way that makes her eyes close. He likes making her smile, it makes him feel less lonely.
The next day is more or less the same; Bachira rushes out the door with some buttered toast hanging out his mouth and the white sun peeking over the horizon. He arrives at school, hands firmly clasping his backpack straps as he runs up the stairs and into class with the hope of someone who genuinely believes in the brightness of a new day.
The day ends with him being a little less hopeful.
Bachira continues on, because he doesn’t know what else he can do.
By day three, Bachira’s homeroom teacher has him stay after class and pats him on the back for “finally taking his studies seriously” and “respecting the education of his classmates”. He knew that he could be a bit annoying sometimes, but he didn’t think he was affecting people that much.
His smile is a little more forced when his mom welcomes him home.
He didn’t have dinner that night, he had too much to catch up on.
Day four has Bachira feeling antsy. He’s been good so far, been able to focus and do his work just like everyone wants him to be able to. He’s been praised more about his work ethic in the last week than he ever has for anything. It’s a bittersweet feeling; he’s finally doing something to be liked but it’s not enough to just be himself.
The Monster sits besides him. He doesn’t judge Bachira. He doesn’t care about things like grades or teacher opinions. If anything, the Monster is just as bored as he is and seems sad that Bachira isn’t doing anything to alleviate that boredom.
Sorry, Monster, there’s just some things that are a little more important than soccer.
Not suffering a fate worse than death is one of them.
Day five is the final day and, frankly, Bachira is the most burnt out he’s ever been.
DId you know that it physically hurts to sit still for hours on end every single day?
Did you know that your brain starts to short circuit after reading so many words and numbers?
DId you know that the only way to be good at school is if to skip lunch to complete late assignments and homework– because fucking no one can do homework at home, that’s a lie that Bachira refuses to believe is true– and then also skip dinner because you’re so tired from focusing on school AND soccer practice that you have to sleep all evening?
Bachira knows. Bachira knows very well. Bachira has been doing that every day since Monday and now the results are catching up with him because it’s Saturday and he has nothing to do, no assignments to complete, and he feels so goddamn shaky.
Is this how everyone else feels? Is this what it means to be a “good kid” in the eyes of the world? He suddenly has a lot more respect for students with good grades and extracurriculars.
In his bubble of stress and something he can only describe as anxiety, Bachira doesn’t notice the frown etched on his mother’s face. He doesn’t notice the way she looks at him like she can see straight through him.
She sets down a plate in front of him. Tamagoyaki drizzled with pretty swirls of ketchup like it’s omurice sits there, perfectly made, with a side of pineapple slices. It’s one of his favorite breakfasts and he can’t tell if it’s meant to comfort him or reward him for doing so good this week.
He politely says his thanks with his hands together and starts to eat while Yuu finishes preparing the green tea. They do it mostly in silence, Bachira too busy eating enough to make up for the week and his mom humming softly along to a song that he vaguely recognizes.
Finally, she speaks. “What’s the plan for this weekend? Gonna go practice?”
“Maybe,” Bachira shrugs. He can’t stop his leg from bouncing. “Or I might stay in and read a book.”
“Oh?” Yuu sets a pair of cups in front of him and then rounds the table to fill both of their cups with her dark green teapot. “That’s a little surprising. I thought you didn’t like reading.”
“Well, maybe I’m trying something new~” Try as he might, it doesn’t sound very convincing, even to him.
She sits down next to him, her tea steaming hot. She looks at him with nothing but love and patience, something that he’s terrified he doesn’t deserve. Her hair is up in a bun, as per usual, and her cooking apron is a pale pink and covered in splotches of paint. Even her fingers have chipped paint marking them.
“Maybe you should take an off day instead. You’ve been working very hard this week and need to rest that big brain of yours.”
Bachira pauses mid-chew. “I’ve been doing good. I don’t want to stop the momentum, or whatever.”
His mother smiles warmly at him and reaches her hand over to gently stroke up and down the bridge of his nose with the back of her finger. It’s a touch that immediately shows its desired effect. Bachira can feel his shoulders loosening and his leg freezes.
It used to be the only thing that would calm him down as a toddler during his meltdowns. Now-a-days, it leaves him feeling warm and fuzzy, like he’s a baby staring up at his mommy from his crib.
“You’re always good, honey. You could drop out of school and I’d still think you were the goodest boy in the world.”
“I’m not a dog,” Bachira huffs, but he’s too distracted to make it anything more than half hearted.
“No,” she agrees. “You’re my precious baby boy, so smart and hardworking.” She moves her hand to pinch his cheek.
“Mom!” Bachira lightly pushes her hand away and picks up one of his pineapples with his fingers, shoving it in his mouth. He flusters pink.
Despite his puffed up cheeks, there’s a small smile on his face that Yuu immediately notices. Her eyes soften. He hasn’t smiled genuinely in days, and she’s made it her mission since he was little to make sure she sees him smile or laugh once a day.
It’s her duty as a mother.
She leans back and takes a sip of her tea. “So, what inspired this sudden bout of motivation? Not that I want to discourage you or anything! I’m just curious. You’ve never cared for school before.”
Bachira’s gaze doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I dunno. I just felt like it.”
“Just felt like it?” Yuu hums thoughtfully. “Was the Monster telling you to?”
“No, not really.” Bachira pushes his half eaten tamagoyaki away. “The Monster wasn’t very happy with my decision, but that’s not too surprising. He doesn’t like anything besides soccer.”
“Just like you,” she observes. “It must have been very difficult then, if you two didn’t agree.”
Bachira doesn’t respond to that. On one hand, it’s nice to have someone else who acknowledges the Monster. He’s always around and Bachira sometimes feels crazy being the only one to see his swirling patterns of purple and black.
But on the other… Bachira is crazy. There’s nothing sane about talking to nothing and he knows people judge him for it. He hears it all the time, whispers much louder than the Monster. They say that he’s delusional, that he can’t be mentally all there if he still has an imaginary friend.
His mom supports him, always has, but maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe if she were stricter, more in tune with society rather than her paintings, maybe the voice she tried to nurture within him would be a little more normal, a little less lonely.
“I don’t think I can do it again.” Bachira admits after the quiet has gone on a little too long.
Yuu nurses her tea. “Do what again?”
“Be good.”
“But you’re already good, remember? You’re always good.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the same thing,” Bachira says, balling up his fists. “I’m not… normal good.”
She hums in understanding. “I see, I see. Do you want to be normal good?”
“Well, no.” Bachira admits, eyes downcast. “But… I don’t want to be me.”
A clay cup clatters on the table as Bachira’s mom nearly slams it down, hot tea sloshing out. She doesn’t say a word as she pushes her chair out and undoes her apron, even as Bachira startles back by her sudden movements.
“Come along now,” she finally says, tossing her apron over the chair. “It’s Mommy-Meguru time.”
“Wha–?” Bachira barely has time to get a question out before his mom grabs his wrist and drags him towards her bedroom.
It’s only slightly bigger than his with a large bed sitting in a poofy, pale purple frame that’s soft and velvety to the touch. Her favorite personal paintings line the walls and all the furniture has mismatching styles, some traditional and others weirdly contemporary and pointy.
Her comforter looks like a massive watercolor painting of flowers and leaves with the background being splotches of blue, purple, and white. Bachira always thought it was too pretty to use as a blanket.
Yuu leads him over to it and pushes him to sit down on the side of the bed.
Bachira whines his protest very loudly. “Okay, okay, I'll take it back! I’ll go outside and play soccer!”
“Nope!” His mother says, a little too gleefully. “Too late! It’s Mommy-Meguru time.”
He knows that is the only thing she’ll say at this point, so he decides to forfeit this battle. Mommy-Meguru time isn’t something he can fuck with, and they both know he would never want to either.
He can’t pinpoint when it started, or why it exists, but what he does know is that, at some point in middle school, Bachira had complained to Yuu that he missed her with the biggest pout on his face. She had been so busy painting those last few weeks for an upcoming art exhibit that he only ever saw her when she was making dinner. She ate in her studio, slept in her studio, and rarely took a break.
Immediately, she gathered him up in her arms, pressing kisses all over his face in-between apologies, and declared that it was Mommy-Meguru time. It wasn’t the first time they spent time together of that nature, but it was the first time they put a name to it.
They mostly watched cartoons, or took a nap together. On days where he was being especially hyperactive, they played outside with his soccer ball, or played a game of tag. She was the only one he liked playing boring schoolyard games with. One time, she brought out some stuffed animals from when he was little and they had a tea party.
Bachira doesn’t think other kids his age do this kind of thing with their parents– no, actually, he knows they don’t. He’s looked it up online: the effects of coddling your children and stunting their emotional development. But the one time he brought that up to her, she reassured him it was fine–
”Momma?” Younger Bachira calls. He’s quieter than normal.
Seeing as he’s on the cusp of becoming a teenager, Yuu has had to deal with a rowdy middle schooler bouncing off the walls as of late. But now, he just stands nearly silent behind her with his arms hugging his soccer ball to his chest. Yuu hums, finishing her last stroke of red paint and sitting her brush in a cup of water. “Don’t you think it’s bad?”
Yuu turns around, her hands wiping excess paint on her hips as she gives her son her full attention. “What is?”
“The fact that you treat me like a baby.”
She seems reluctant to answer at first, unsure of how to address that. “Did someone tell you that?”
“No,” he answers. “I read that it’s bad. Children need to grow up on their own, without their parents.”
Yuu steps forward and places her hands on both sides of Bachira’s face. “That is true, yes. As parents, it’s our responsibility to make sure our children are prepared for the future, and we can’t do that if we keep them little forever, no matter how much we wish we could.”
Bachira deflates a little bit.
“Thank you for bringing this up to me,” Yuu continues, almost sounding as if she’s reading lines straight from a parenting book. Each word is carefully thought about. She knows this is a sensitive topic. She can’t afford to say the wrong thing and hurt her son. “I always value your concerns and opinions. Which is why I think you deserve to have a proper conversation about this.”
“A conversation on whether or not I need to grow up?”
“Not quite,” she chuckles. “You see, while that, generally, may be true for a majority of children, every single person is different. Everyone has different needs, different specialties, different personalities. There will never be a statement that can group every single person together, understand?”
Bachira nods slowly. “I think so. It’s like how I can’t study.”
Yuu smiles. “That’s right. That’s something you aren’t good at, that others are, and you’re really good at soccer, while there are many that aren’t. We’re all different, and we all handle things differently. I personally believe that children should grow at their own pace and that it’s my job to encourage you to try new things.”
At this, she kneels down so she can look up at her son. He’s still so young, so excited to learn and so desperate for a connection. She knows he wants a friend more than anything, and she just hopes that she and the Monster will be enough for him until he’s ready to branch out.
“But I don’t think it’s my place to force you to do or be anything you don’t want to be. If you told me tomorrow that you didn’t want to play soccer anymore and instead wanted to go to the moon, I’d look up at the stars and do everything in my power to get you there.”
Yuu pauses, very aware that she’s seconds from tearing up and losing her words. “And I think that applies to this, as well. Adults would benefit from playing with dinosaurs and watching silly shows, I think, so I don’t feel like there’s anything wrong with you liking those things. Do you think it’s wrong? When I give you a little more attention?”
“I don’t know,” Bachira mumbles. “But I like it. I like when you hold me and we watch movies together. I don’t think it’s fair that I have to stop playing with you just because I’m getting older.”
“I agree,” Yuu says. “If they make you happy and you’re safe, that’s all I care about and I think that’s all that really matters.”
Bachira ponders her words, comparing them to the ones he read on a parenting blog. “So, I’m not developmentally challenged?”
“No! Not at all,” Yuu says immediately. “You’re a very, very smart boy and far more emotionally mature than I was at your age. I think you’re going at your own pace and you’re doing whatever your mind needs in order to help you grow.”
“You think so?”
Yuu pecks his cheek. “Mommy knows so.”
–it was what he needed to hear, he knows that, but it’s been a few years and newer, more pressing doubts have long since wormed their way into his mind.
It’s been so long since they’ve properly had Mommy-Meguru time. He honestly thought that maybe he grew out of it, instead sticking to doing those more childish impulses by himself in his room. Maybe he did grow out of it and it’ll just feel dumb and awkward.
Yuu pays him no mind as she searches through her drawers. She grabs a pair of her fuzzy pink pajama pants and tosses it behind her with a gesture to put it on.
Bachira obeys as she slips out, probably to go to his room and get one of his sleep shirts. He changes out of his jeans, laughing a bit to himself that it’s still morning and he’s already changing out of his daywear, and internally sighs in relief at how soft and comfortable he already feels.
His mother comes back in with one of his thinner shirts, a tattered pale yellow thing that hangs to his knees. It always makes him feel smaller than he is. Most sports players he knows prefer to be taller, but he doesn’t. He likes being shorter than most of the team. It means people underestimate his agile abilities and… well, sometimes it’s nice to be surrounded by people much larger than you are when you’re not entirely there.
“So," Yuu starts, climbing onto her bed and flopping down, crisscrossing her legs as she makes the mattress bounce a bit. Bachira looks at her with his big, bright eyes of pure liquid gold. He drops his t-shirt to the floor and settles into his oversized one. She grins at him, something both motherly and mischievous. “Whaddya wanna do, sunshine?”
Sunshine.
There’s a brief moment of hesitation– a bout of surprise jolting through him at how easy it is for him to agree. It’s less of a sinking feeling, and more like he’s lost focus on the things around him. Everything a little too blurry and bright, just as it should be.
Bachira hums. It’s too early for a nap, and he just ate so snacking isn’t an option, but he’s also… so very tired. He feels lighter, sure, but it’s like someone cracked a massive egg on his head and the yolk is all the stress of this past week, all the knowledge that he will never be good enough.
“How about we talk first?” Yuu offers when her son stays quiet, picking at the comforter.
“Don’t wanna talk,” Bachira says, a distinct whine to his voice that isn’t normally there. “Too much.”
“Ahh, I see. It’s a little too overwhelming right now? That’s okay. We can talk later when you’re feeling a little bit better.” Yuu reaches a hand up and starts gently stroking the bridge of his nose like before. It almost tickles.
Despite his words, Bachira whispers something that she nearly doesn’t catch. “Mommy?”
“Hm?” She moves her hand to his hair, pushing his bangs back and the sides behind his ears.
“Why can’t I be normal?” He meets her gaze, doe eyes a bit watery.
She freezes.
The way her little boy asks her this question breaks her heart. It’s different to all the other times he asked her similar things. Usually, it comes from a place of frustration, or genuine confusion as to why other kids don’t act the way he does.
But this? This is the dreaded question that’s been bothering her boy all week. These are the words of a boy who has never fit in and is tired of pretending that he doesn’t care.
“Meguru,” she starts slowly. “You are perfectly normal, okay? It’s just that your normal is different to most people’s normal. You will never be able to be most people’s normal.”
“Why not?” Bachira’s voice cracks, eyes filling with tears.
As a mother, there’s nothing Yuu wants more than to wrap him up in a blanket and protect him from the world. She knows more than anything what it’s like to be different, to have the whole world against you. She had her painting, her craft, to get her through it and, while she knows her son has soccer and that it’s a wonderful thing for him, she fears that it might not be enough.
Yuu sighs.
She wants to say the words that she knows he wants to hear. The words she wanted to hear when she was his age.
But it is because she’s a mother that she can’t do that.
“Because the world… doesn’t really work like that. If you try to change for other people, all you’ll do is make things harder for yourself.”
“But it’s not fair!” Bachira cries out, slamming both his fists into the comforter. Big crocodile tears drip down his puffed out cheeks, soaking into his pants. He kicks his feet out from where they’re dangling over the edge of the bed. He knows he’s throwing a tantrum, and he knows it’s over something stupid, but he can’t help it!
Everything just feels so bad. His lack of good sleep or proper eating habits this week leaves his body feeling gross and his head hurts more than he’d like to admit. It’s a pounding behind his eyes that throbs with spiky pain and pulls the first sob of the day out of him.
Bachira leans down to hide his face in his knees, cradling his arms to his chest and letting out open mouthed sobs. It’s been such a bad week and it’s all his fault.
He wishes he could be normal. He just wants friends so, so badly. He’s tired of being alone. He’s tired of being scared that the Monster is all he’ll ever have. He’s tired of being unique. He’s tired of being himself.
There’s a shift of movement next to him and then a pair of arms wrap around him delicately. Sometimes touching him, even when he’s small, just overwhelms him and makes his tantrums worse. When it’s clear he’s not going to fight her, Yuu pulls him towards her and holds him tightly.
Bachira curls up in her lap. He tries to make himself as small as possible as sobs rack his body. One of his fists holds on to his mommy’s shirt and he presses the side of his head against her chest. He sticks the thumb of his free hand in his mouth and sucks. He can hear the dull thuds of her heart beating.
Yuu quietly hums, rocking the two of them side to side. Her fingers gently run through his hair and play with the ends, trying to give him something to focus on as he self soothes. She doesn’t love his habit of sucking his thumb– residual first time mom panic setting off alarm bells at how unsanitary it is– but it’s better to let him do what he wants right now.
“Big cries, huh, sunshine? Take your time. Mommy’s not going anywhere.” Yuu says quietly. “You’re safe right here with me. I’ve got ya.”
The room is still and dim. The sun can’t shine behind the clouds.
Bachira cries and cries until his lungs hurt and he has to cough in order to force himself to breathe. Yuu shushes him and rubs circles into his back, trying to bring him back down. She squeezes him, letting him hide in the safe bubble she’s providing.
When he’s calmed down enough to be nothing but hiccups, coughs, and wet sniffles, Yuu speaks again. She speaks low and soft, mouth right next to his ear. If anyone else had been in the room, they wouldn’t be able to hear her.
“It’s not fair, you’re right.” She says simply. “And I know you don’t want to be you. Being you is hard and it’s a lot for anyone to handle, let alone such a tiny boy like you.”
There’s something different about Yuu’s words. Bachira can’t really think of why right now, too upset and little to think about anything besides burrowing into his mommy’s embrace. When he’s a little bigger, when he doesn’t feel so scared, he’ll realize that those were the words he needed to hear.
“Hard,” Bachira says in agreement, glad that someone sees how much he tries. His voice is raspy and completely wiped out. He sniffles and rubs his runny nose on Yuu’s sleeve. She doesn’t falter. All of her shirts have seen worse.
When he doesn’t say anything else, Yuu continues. “But you wanna hear a secret, Meguru?”
“Secret.” Bachira repeats quietly, almost in awe.
“Mhm, a secret,” Yuu’s voice has turned playful, her lips unturned and crinkles in her eyes. “This is something I’ve never told anyone. You ready?”
Bachira nods furiously, a sudden look of pure focus and determination on his face. If it weren’t for the red eyes and tear tracks down his cheeks, you wouldn’t even be able to tell that he was upset.
“No matter what, even if you wish you could be anyone else, I will always be forever thankful that I had you. I would never change you for the world. Nothing makes me more proud than seeing you be yourself.” She punctates the last three words with boops on his nose.
Bachira’s eyes water. He feels so tiny, so young and emotionally raw. He sniffles and shifts his body so he can wrap his arms around Yuu’s neck. She immediately returns the hug, feeling something warm tighten in her chest.
“My little bottle of sunshine,” she hums, kissing his cheek.
It’s all so familiar yet so new. The haziness that slows everything down, the sweet comfort his mother brings, the necessary words to make him feel like maybe things will be okay. Bachira nuzzles into the crook of her neck and yawns. He lets his eyes fall closed.
“Head hurts,” Bachira whimpers.
“Aww, poor baby,” Yuu coos. “We’ll get you some water. All that crying probably made you dehydrated.”
Bachira doesn’t respond. The pounding in his head is mostly a dull ache by this point, uncomfortable for sure, but not enough to keep a stubborn baby from sleeping.
“... or not. Maybe we’ll just have a Mommy-Meguru naptime, instead.” Yuu says fondly.
It goes quiet. Only Bachira’s puffs of breath audible as the room seems to suddenly bask in a warm glow. The clouds have moved, and the sun still shines.
He’s tired of being special. He’s tired of how hard it is to be different.
But, now, he’s a little less scared of being alone. Even if all he has is the Monster and his mother, that’s good enough for him.
He doesn’t mind being so tired if it means he can nap in her arms.