Ephemeris

6 : Parachute

Mr. Lens did an outstanding job magnifying the garlic power trail left by Potti. Daniel hunkered down, holding the magnifying glass an inch off the floor. Lady Mondragon kept her balance, grasping his shoulder, riding like a prancing horse, cherishing the smooches of wind against her decorated wings.

Their fortuitous adventure, a spur-of-the-moment, was an excellent deviation to amuse him from the turbulence that kept stabbing his youth. The curious stomps of his sandals, the glistening convex glass of the nifty Mr. Lens, and the screechy hee-haw of Lady Mondragon feeling like a cowboy had shooed the maddening hush. Even the foul Umbrae were covering their ugly faces under the masks of dark shades of forgotten corners. Their repartee stopped when they reached the foot of the stairs.

"The garlic powder ends here at the foot of the stairs. Where did Potti go?" asked Mr. Lens. "I was in the apex of anticipation, zooming hard in our treasure hunting escapade, but plateaued after finding no trace of Potti's ingenious idea."

Lady Mondragon interrupted. "Sad, so sad. I thought this would be fun. After all, maybe Potti is just a stupid mouse—a vermin. Now, we are in a decline of our emotions and slowly letting our lips hang down, touching the cold floor."

Daniel massaged his temples and tugged his hair back. "Potti is our friend, remember? And vermin is a harsh word, Lady Mondragon. Watch your words. Maybe, he is there somewhere, listening at this moment, and might get hurt by your bluntness," he replied with disappointment.

The trio stood there in silence, wondering where Potti went. Leftward to the kitchen? Mice are annoying and fond of messing with any food, even garbage. Rightward back to the living room? So impossible and pointless but probable. A mouse does have a tiny brain, is weak-minded, helpless, and just wants to have fun. Or upward? Perhaps, he thought.

Daniel wrinkled up his face, folded his arms, and studied the wooden flight of steps. "No trace of garlic powder," he sighed.

Lady Mondragon raised a brow. "See? A naughty vermin. He lured us with his cute little eyes, coquettish squeaks, and contagious playfulness to beg for food. He won by playing coy tricks on us," she crossed her arms.

Daniel carefully raised the magnifying glass inch by inch. "I lay down my arms," Mr. Lens snapped. "I surrender. I cannot allow the fact that a little mouse duped us easily," he knitted his brows.

"Gullible us," Lady Mondragon added.

There were cinders on the little boy's irises. Potti would not leave us. He would stay and guide us to somewhere that would allow me to learn to dream again. I am sure about it, he thought.

Everyone shut their eyes, searching for light in the endless blackness. They hoped that Potti would show up. A noise from the kitchen—the dripping water from a faucet—tickled their eardrums. They waited for a sound, a squeak, a sign—anything.

Someone whispered to his ears. Why do you wait and mope?

The three got startled. And so, Daniel, Mr. Lens, and Lady Mondragon peeled their eyes and looked around. Nothing was there, not a single presence. Daniel blurted out, "Now, I hear things!" He sighed. "I'm going bonkers. I am mad, talking to inanimate barrette and lens," he added as he took a gander at the sparkly barrette on his shoulder.

A descending soft scuffle got the attention of the pouting boy. He felt a nibble on his rubber slippers. "Potti!" he cried out in delight.

He kneeled on the floor beside the mischievous mouse. The mouse tried to say something, doing some funky movements, pantomiming. He squinted. "I don't understand," he shook his head and squeezed his brain to decipher the rodent's message. "All I see is your mouth moving, annoying squeals, and Tyrannosaurus funny claw gestures."