He’d ask
“I wish I could be a healer.”
“Of course you can.”
“What do you want to be, Carl?”
“…A father.”
“Of whose children?”
He wanted to say “you,” of course, because Mariel was looking at him with her wide, bright blue eyes full of hope that spoke of the dreams only seen by an ordinary girl like she was--but the word stuck in his throat, leaving him speechless with an apparent pinkish shade adorning his cheeks. Because it was Mariel who had grasped his heart since the first time they shook hands and the word “friends” was exchanged. Mariel was an angel—with soft brown locks crowning her head and gentle cerulean eyes shining with understanding. She’d picked him up from the naiveté of Earth up to Heaven, showing him a whole new different perspective called love. But now—
--never did he imagine that he was the one who became an anchor. To life. To reality.
He didn’t tell Mariel that he knew, no. Not that Matt told him not to—it was just that he was scared. Yes, after all these years, he was still a coward. And a stupid boy—an extraordinarily ordinary boy who couldn’t even say a thing to make the smile on Mariel’s face grew wider like
“Of whose, Carl?”
“…I…I dunno. I guess… um. My wife’s.”
“But you don’t have one.”
“Yeah. But I will one day.”
But Mariel wouldn’t be able to have children, would she? She would be ten forever, while he would grow, taller and taller until he reached his limit; his jaw forming a firm line like Cam’s, and his chubby cheeks gone, and he would be an adult like he was supposed to look at his age. But Mariel—Mariel was a Lost Girl, wouldn’t even grow older even though she aged. Ten forever, that was what she was. And one day, there would be a time when Carl took her hand and felt how small it was. There would be a time when Carl walked with her and someone would ask if she was his sister. There would be a time when people gave him weird looks when he kissed Mariel full on the lips in public—if he ever worked up the courage to do that.
Ten forever. And she might not even reach seventeen.
“You are awfully distracted today. Should we head back?”
“No.” Pause. Hesitance. “I mean—if you want to.”
Cerulean eyes as gentle as the morning breeze. “Um. Let’s stay here a bit longer, yes?”
“Yeah.”
When Mariel’s cold hand touched his hesitantly, he looked up and caught the gentle gaze, and the thought slipped into his mind—I have to be her Peter Pan.
Ha. If only he was strong enough to be one.
The book in his hand felt heavy—The Little Prince, the book Mariel had said to be one of the best ever, the book that she slipped into his Transfiguration book—the book she said was the core of her strength. The book she never forgot to bring wherever she went. The book she had never lent to anybody. He’d finished it in two hours—it was a fairy tale, so he could bear with it—and despite the amazement of the story, he finally understood why Mariel loved this book so much.
“Today is a good day.”
“Did something good happen?”
“Well, not really. I’m still thankful, though.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You’re here, the sky is blue, the sun is warm, and I’m having a good time. You see, you have to be thankful for those little things, Carl.”
And he was. He was thankful to have her—so very much. And the book had made him so much more aware of that.
Even the older twin of Camelopardalis and Pushkin didn’t know of Mariel’s true condition, and they were Mariel’s best best friends. If it weren’t for Matt, he wouldn’t even have known. Mariel kept everything about her handicap to herself—not even Matt claimed to know exactly how she was doing. And Carl was scared—scared so much that Mariel would slip out of his hold while he wasn’t aware of it; slip out of his hold and out of this world. Even thinking about it was scary.
The night was not young anymore—everyone in the boys’ dorm seemed to be asleep. But he couldn’t. And he hated it, because at night, shadows played many tricks to his eyes, taking advantage of the lack of light. He could hear Silvershape’s snore from the corner of the room, and Fratley’s soft breathing on the next bed. He could feel his heart thumping beneath the book he held on his chest—and something in his head said, I want to see her.
He was an idiot, alright. Stupid enough to walk out of the room bare-footed and trudged down the stairs towards the Common Room decked in everything orange. The hearth was still alight, emitting welcoming warmth against the cold stone walls and floors of Hogwarts. He stepped in soundlessly, feeling the hard, cold stone under his feet, and stopped—
--what the hell. What was he going to do anyway? Sneaking into the girls’ dorm? It was late at night, Mariel wouldn’t even be awake!
“…Who’s there?”
The sleepy voice roused him from his trance, and his eyebrows rose high, because the beautiful, soprano voice was one he would always recognize even with eyes closed. Promptly striding towards the couches around the hearth, he let his eyes wander to find his girl laying on one of the couches; a blanket covering her and a letter in her hand—looking up at him in surprise, with a touch of sleepiness in those gentle blue eyes.
“Why are you still up, Carl?”
He opened his mouth, and swiftly closed it again because he had no idea what to say. Taking in the sight of his girl, he noted that her feet were positioned rather awkward—her ankles angling from the couch side—and the blanket didn’t quite cover her legs. And the fact that she was still wearing her Hogwarts robe—
It was the time again, huh?
He saw Mariel tried to move—and out of impulse, or perhaps it was just in his trait as a Badger, he went over to the side of the couch and helped the girl sit up. Mariel tensed under his touch, and he paused for a moment, but then she shifted and he moved again, helping her to a sitting position. Once she settled down, he hesitantly took the place next to her, sitting almost stiff with The Little Prince in his hand still.
Cerulean eyes found his dark ones, and Mariel spoke, almost scared, “You knew.”
“Huh?” He blinked, because his mind was somewhat hazy, seeing his girl in such a helpless state like that. But then everything clicked, and he bit his lips, before saying, “Matt—“
“I know. He told me.”
“Oh.” Oh. So he didn’t need to explain anything.
Not that he knew how to.
But something in his chest was screaming at him, telling him an idiot for being quiet while his whole surroundings practically flashed red a ‘ROMANTIC’ at him—the fire in the fireplace, the blanket, the book, the dim light, Mariel’s soft breathing—and before he knew it, his hand moved, threading his fingers on Mariel’s brown locks, undoing the natural knots. He heard her sigh softly, so he pulled her, letting her head rest on his shoulder before encircling her figure with one arm.
“You’re alright.”
“…Yes. You’re right. I am.”
He planted a kiss on the girl’s head, inhaling the subtle scent of jasmine that he’d associated as her scent. Mariel’s hands moved to spread the blankets on both of them, and Carl relaxed, closing his eyes in contentment. Her fingers touched the book on his lap, overlapping with his fingers, and Carl laced them together.
He was thankful. Of this girl in his arms, of the fate that led him to know and love her. There would be times when they’d face hard times, there would be times when he had to watch Mariel in pain and felt the dreadful feeling in his stomach—but those would come later on. Now, it was peaceful and warm and Mariel was against him—breathing and alive and happy.
I’ll be your Peter Pan, little Lost Girl.
He fell asleep with the vow echoing in his head, to the sound of soft breath and the crackle in the fire.
-----o0o-----
Kalau sampai ketahuan menulis ini, mungkin aku bisa digantung. Hahaha.
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