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“What is that, question?”
“What’s what?” Ryland asked, eyes locked on the glistening, translucent sphere. He took another deep breath, then blew, slow and steady.
Rocky rolled closer. “Friend Grace is breathing irregularly. Moving lips strangely. What is Grace doing, question?”
“Oh, right! I guess you’ve never seen bubbles before, huh?” Ryland held up the cup of makeshift bubble formula he had accidentally scraped together. While cleaning up his ‘filthy filthy filthy’ workspace, Ryland may have accidentally mixed in some soap with a still perfectly good half-full cup of water. And, well… it seemed a waste to just throw it all away. One zip tie and a quick trip to the don’t go crazy room later, and Ryland was in business.
Rocky tilted his carapace to one side, claws tapping against the edges of his ball. “Bubbles, explain, question?”
A grin spread across Ryland’s face. He held up the little plastic loop, dipping it into the cup again before blowing gently. A cluster of shimmering spheres drifted away from him, some one by one, others in wobbly twos and threes. They bobbed through the air, moving towards the banks of screens surrounding them.
Rocky recoiled as one drifted towards his ball, popping wetly against the xenonite. It left behind a glistening residue.
“See? Bubbles,” Ryland said, his smile unwavering. Rocky waited. It took longer than it should for the pieces to click together for Ryland. He rubbed the back of his neck, smile turning sheepish. “That wasn’t actually an explanation, was it?”
“No, statement.”
“Okay. Okay, well, they’re… little pockets of air trapped inside a really thin film of soapy water.”
Rocky tilted his carapace the other way. “You deliberately manufacture fragile air containers, question?”
Ryland blinked. “Yes?”
“Why, question?”
Ryland blinked again, mouth opening, then closing, then opening. He turned to look at the bubble solution, as though the half-full cup might hold some hidden explanation beyond the obvious. “Because they’re… fun?”
Rocky’s claws clicked against the edges of his ball. “They serve no purpose, question?”
“Correct.”
“They are not nutritious.”
“Also correct.”
“You cannot construct with them.”
“Definitely not.”
“They leave behind liquid, statement.”
“Ah, that I’ll clean up later, before I can slip on it.”
Silence stretched between them for several long seconds before Rocky next spoke. “Grace still no explain how bubbles fun, statement.”
Ryland laughed, shaking his head. “Humans are weird, okay?”
He lifted the makeshift bubble wand, blowing again, slower this time. A single large bubble grew, and grew, and grew between them. It spun, impossibly delicate, in a lazy circle, its surface flashing with ribbons of iridescent colour. Ryland watched, transfixed.
How could he explain summers in the muggy San Francisco heat, sitting on the back steps of their narrow townhouse with Colt and nothing better to do than to try and amuse themselves? He could still remember the way that Colt would try and convince him that, if he was just careful enough, he could catch the bubbles with his bare hands. That if Ryland blew slowly and extra carefully, he could create a bubble even bigger than Colt.
Even at the tender age of four, Ryland had known that Colt should be off wanting to play with the bigger kids, not stuck at home looking after his baby brother while their deadbeat dad slept the days away.
When dear old dad was home, Ryland and Colt weren’t welcome inside. And, instead of leaving Ryland to fend for himself while he went off to hang out with friends in the comfort of the air-conditioned mall, Colt had spent those hazy summer afternoons together with a bowl of bubbles.
“It’s kind of hard to explain.” Ryland let out an unsteady breath. “They’re pretty. The colours… They look magical. Like translucent, painted rainbows.”
Ryland reached out, the corner of his lips twisting into a bittersweet smile as bubbles popped across his bare skin, tiny soapy splatters spreading out and around.
“Most human kids play with bubbles at some point. Parents and siblings blow them in the backyard. Teachers use them for science classes. Someone always tries to catch them. Someone always pops them.”
Flashes of his childhood streaked across Ryland’s mind; of Colt laughing as Ryland jumped, determined to catch each and every bubble. Of the heat and the sun and the scent of hot asphalt and the hunger of being outside for too long with nothing but water and his brother and bubbles, bubbles, bubbles.
“Even as a little kid, you know deep down that they’re always gonna burst. That’s the whole point. They only last a few seconds, but for those few seconds, everyone just… watches. Together.” His smile faltered, Colt’s cocky grin – so much like his own – reflected back at him on the surface of the nearest bubble.
“I used to have this bubble machine for my students after exams sometimes. Just five minutes of not worrying about grades or homework or how they’d done on that last test. Just… watching bubbles, and getting to be kids.”
Earth suddenly felt a whole lot further away.
His throat tightened, the corners of his eyes stinging.
“Leaky, leaky, leaky. Disgust.” Rocky’s voice – that familiar mix of concern and disgust – forced him back to the moment, the xenonite ball nudging carefully his legs. “What is wrong, question?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Lie.”
Ryland let out a weak, wet laugh. He scrubbed roughly at his face, placing the bubble wand down. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
“Bubbles hurt friend Grace, question?”
“No, buddy. I was just… thinking of home.”
“Then bubbles have purpose,” Rocky said, ball nudging at the abandoned bubble wand. “They contain memories. Good memories, question?”
Sweat-soaked hugs and half-melted ice pops snuck from the chest freezer. Peeling sunburn and Colt’s shitty taste in music. Morning turning to twilight, the day finally done and brothers still outside. Together.
Ryland swallowed hard.
“Yeah, buddy. Good memories.”
“Grace show Rocky more bubbles. We experience together, statement.”
“Yeah… yeah. That would be nice.”