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Simon was never really anything extraordinary. His mother loved him, of course, every mother loves her son. She held him gently when he cried, wiped the dirt from his knees when he stumbled. She bathed him, fed him, and loved him like a mother must. She had given him her beautiful, inky hair. It stuck up on his head when he was smaller, not silky like hers, but she brushed it all the same.
She liked to hum while she brushed his spiky hair, and he sometimes liked to hum with her. When she was done, she’d kiss his cheeks and let him go off playing in the sun. He’d rather sit inside; he never liked playing with the other boys, but couldn’t bear the misty look in her eyes whenever he’d refuse. He’d pick at the grass and sit in the brush until she called him in for supper.
Once, when he was very young, he wandered off in a fit. His mother had been trying to explain to him that Daddy would come back as soon as he could, but he couldn’t yet. Simon didn’t want Uncle to come live with them, for he was quite nervous around his heavy hand. He stumbled out of the back door, feeling at the wall with his jam-sticky fingers.
He kicked at the dirt, following the path winding through the treeline to the road. He was entirely interested in the small flowers dotting the grass. He picked a few as he walked so as to make a little bouquet. A peeling barn just off the trail didn’t catch his attention until he nearly smacked himself into it. The door was already creaked open.
Simon pushed at the rotting door, peering inside the curious place. He sighed, frustrated with its plainness, until he heard a weak squeal. He gasped and peered back inside to find the squeal’s source.
He giggled when he saw a piglet rolling in the barn's earth near its mother. The piglet was small, even for a thing like itself. He waddled to them, outstretching his hand to pet the piglet’s snout. It first sniffled at him and he gurgled when it snorted.
“What are you doing here?” He whined when it nipped at his sleeve and pulled away angrily. It only tilted its head and nipped again. “What do you want?!” he asked exasperatedly. The piglet nuzzled into his scrawny bouquet in response.
Simon figured the piglet was hungry. Once he had this revelation, he let go of the crumpled flowers and put his grimy hands on his knees to watch the piglet eat. He patted its ears, pleased with providing its meal. He sat with the piglet for a while, scratching its chin and hind legs. Its mother watched him carefully. Eventually, the piglet decided it had enough of his attention and tottered back to its mothers laying spot in the dirt.
Simon whimpered softly. “Come back!” The little piglet only settled down with its mother. He pouted for a moment as he watched, and realized with despair that he had left his own mother behind at home and missed her dearly. He ran out of the barn as quickly as he could, waving behind him as a goodbye to the pigs.
He spent quite a bit of time trying to find his way home. He grew more frustrated as he scampered back the way he had come, for all the dirt looked the same and he yearned for a taste of his mother’s warm stew; the broth always felt almost as warm as her embrace.
By the time he reached his journey’s end, the sun had begun to fall. He grunted as he tried to strain his hand out to the front door’s handle, crying out in anger when he tried and failed to reach it. Hot tears burned his skin as he threw himself to the ground and wailed in a heap of boy and dirt.
Soft steps approached Simon from the other side of the door, and he lifted his head at the noise. Finally, the handle turned, and his mother stepped out onto the porch.
She gasped, immediately raising him into her arms and cradling his head against her shoulder. “Simon! Oh, darling, where have you been? I was worried sick!” Her dress clung onto her legs as she rocked him. “You can’t run off like that.”
Uncle was waiting at the table when Simon’s mother brought him inside, jaw clenched. He held more tightly to his mother’s sleeve. She spoke before Uncle could.
“Please, he only strayed off. He didn’t mean to scare us. Let him be.”
The man sucked in a breath. “This will not happen again. Understood?”
Neither mother nor son gave a response. “Understood?”
“Simon, love, answer him.”
Simon glanced up at his mother, hesitant. She rubbed his back. “Y-Yes, Uncle. I’m sorry.” None spoke, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of silence. His mother poured everyone their stew. He stayed in her lap, avoiding Uncle’s stiff gaze.
The forest often seemed to call to him, pull him closer once more.
Simon did not wander off again.