2019-12-11 - In the eyes of a child

He looked at the screen of his smartphone, not yet bothering to get out of bed on the floor. Propping his head up in his left hand, he'd brushed his tussled hair back soon after waking up, and before reviewing the text messages he had sent and received last night. They made him a little less miserable. Then a glance through last night's bids, and he was less miserable still.

It wasn't until he saw there was a new advice column out, that his misery returned. And after reading them, he had returned to the burning pit of forlorn that was where his soul dwelled. "Fuck me," he muttered to himself and casts a glance towards the top of his broken dresser. The one that was here when he moved in where the card and package still sat, hanging next to the blue The Tick cowl.

With an exasperated sigh, the big man rolled and then pulled himself from his bed, letting the sheet fall from his pulchritudinous, nude frame to snag the package with card and return to the flat mattress. Sitting back down, cross-legged, he set it down on his lap and stared at the capital fifth letter of the alphabet in a flourish of calligraphy that let him believe he knew who it was from without having to ask Lee when the Sweet Retreat manager brought it to his attention.

Realizing that he was just delaying the inevitable, thick fingers plucked the card and opened it, not soon after a smirk appears on the right soft of his face, falling quickly when he dwarfs a drawn outline of a small hand. The giant sniffs then turns his eyes to read words on the other side of a hand turned turkey drawing. "Ah, Robbie," his cadence soft, sad, "Happy Thanksgiving to you too, kiddo."

Checking the card's back, he gives a double-take and checks it again, finding writing there as well. Immediately, his straight eyebrows downcast as he frowns and, without a word, he turns the letter back, to look at the handprint, the right corner of his mouth twitching with a quick smile.

Purposefully, he leans forward and delicately lays the card, left open, on the bed beside him. Green eyes were then cast down to the package in his lap, looking at it for a tic, before he summoned up the courage. Just then his phone signals a new message, and he reaches for it, reading and sending a reply, his apathetic expression fell to a smile for the duration. Putting his phone back down, he tore the packing paper and saw yellow and the top letter of the children's book title.

Ripping the paper a little more, then pulling it out of the package, he looked at the book, took a breath and exhaled in a softly indignant sigh. The first time, the first Story Time, this was one of the books read. While other people's kids were crawling to get closer. While he was being used as a child's playground. Again, he sniffs and this time turns his head away to stroke one of those sausage fingers under his eye. Collecting the card, package, and book, he stands up once more and balances the book and card back on the bookcase before throwing the trash away and returning to bed, dropping to the single mattress with a muted thud. Thick arms cuddle the pillow under his head to his cheek. Eyes open, he starts to formulate a plan. He remembers there'll be another Story Time tonight, at seven. And he knows what to avoid, he knows what her car looks like.

He waited. Leaning against the depository for books with his foot up, knee bent on the wall behind him. He smoked to calm down, and he was on his second cigarette. Tucking the fist-sized gift under his arm, he took his phone out and checked the time again. Arriving early, too early, he gave the place a long scope before daring to approach, just to make sure the bright blue Prius, her baby, wasn't in the parking lot. He didn't go inside, he didn't dare, knowing there are spies inside that would tattle. Parking himself close enough to the main doors, but far enough away that he won't violate the no-smoking law within the vicinity of the front doors.

And as he slid the phone back into his inside leather jacket pocket, to check the time, he heard the most delightful sound. One that brought a bright smile to the otherwise detached expression. A shrill, excited little boy.

"Mr. Woods!"