Boy of the Moon

5

Emile sat up so that his back leaned against the cool wall behind his bed. He had woken up just before the Sun came up to see if Christopher-Elliot was still there, and he was. He would not wake up. Even when Emile had told him that the Sun was almost out he had mumbled some strange things and rolled around. Then, up until now, Emile had sat and stared at him, occasionally flexing his toes and stretching out his arms so that rays of light illuminated his pale skin. Even compared to Christopher-Elliot, Emile was pale. Paler than maman and papa and Tulie. He remembered a time when he was envious of his little sister Tulie because she could play outside all day and not go red as a tomato - Emile couldn't go outside unless he was slathered with a thick layer of SPF 45 sunscreen and dressed in layers of hats and shirts and trousers. Perhaps he was still bitter, but he had gotten used to his little bubble indoors.

A name danced around his head. Albino. He was not quite sure where and when he had heard it, but it must have been when he still could not walk, in a white clean room with a man in a mint-green coat. Albino. The man had said it. Whatever it was, Emile didn't mind. And he wasn't at all worried because the man had said it with a smile on his face.

Christopher-Elliot's eyelids opened and closed. The Sun had now risen a few inches above the horizon. Emile should have pulled the muslin curtains over the window long ago to shade the room, but he hadn't. How long would it take for Christopher-Elliot to notice that he was late?

"You talk in your sleep," said Emile. It had been funny to hear him speak in the middle of the night. He was annoyed at first because he wanted to sleep, but then it had made him curious. Why had Christopher-Elliot spoken to him while he slept? What was he dreaming about? Knowing him, it was probably about the ocean. Christopher-Elliot knew a lot about the ocean. Emile had never seen it.

"Hmm?" Christopher-Elliot rubbed his eyes and looked around. "When?"

"You don't remember?"

Christopher-Elliot shook his head. He could remember something about a shell, but not the talking. Emile was staring at him, his eyes a pale gray now. For a moment he thought he remembered something else, the ripple of a golden scarf, a sandy tendril, a crater, maybe... But the images evaporated as the sunlight woke him. Sunlight...

Christopher-Elliot jumped out of the bed and rushed to the window.

"The Sun is out!" He panicked. Were his parents awake yet? His father usually went fishing just before dawn, to catch the most colorful fish. He checked on Christopher-Elliot before he went out and kissed his head. Christopher-Elliot was not there today.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, stupid," said Emile and from the bed, "You wouldn't wake up."

"You didn't try to shake me or something?"

"It's still early, anyway."

"My dad wakes up early!"

Christopher-Elliot's voice was sharper than he intended it to be. Emile shrugged. He swung his legs off the bed and thought. Fortunately, Christopher-Elliot couldn't spot anybody moving around in his house. He had to leave before they woke up, assuming his father was sleeping too. If he wasn't it made no difference.

Emile walked to his desk stamped with countless moons and Tulie's toddler drawings. He slipped out a piece of paper from a drawer and a silver gel pen from a pencil-holder and began to draw. From where he was standing in front of the window, Christopher-Elliot could not see what he was drawing, glancing once in a while at the house. He so wanted to see the drawing but he felt that Emile did not want him to see, hunched over the paper as if to hide it. Christopher-Elliot felt discluded and uncertain.