Whistle For the Dragon

Possibilities

Possibilities. Once upon a time I used to see them everywhere before that day. Animated in a realm that was accessible to me and my brother angelo. Possibilities such edible things creating such pulsing animation, in a world that begs for rhetoric. In their eyes I am an aging flower, in my mind, I am a child again. Potent with wonder, plagued with visions I can touch, taste, feel, see, and paint, colours that enchant me, eclipsing everything in this simple reality. It is magic in my mind. There are jewels, a paradise where ideas wander naked, some cloaked in gold, and when I gaze at my brother Angelo, as he erupts with giggles both of us tuning into a world beyond this simple equation of what you see is what you get. I have plucked moons from turquoise Oceans, leapt with Icarus's who continued to transcend, swallowed third eyes that gazed from silver clouds to watch a busy world. I have stolen chorus from Nightingales and sung agitated babies to sleep, aiding Rapunzels to braid the shimmering gold of endless streams of hair. In my mind there is magic. " butter or Jam?" Angelo announces as he scoops up a glass tin from the kitchen freezer. Ignoring my choice he merrily shoves the Jam jar into the gold picnic basket. " We stay longer this time, okay," he demands," and this time I be Chef."
"Yes Angelo you be Chef." I agree. It's alright to let a five year old make the sandwiches, so long as this time he's not adding worms to them. We are going on one of our adventures again. I call them "the absences" where we escape from what is normal and explore the prisms of a creative mind. Normal is a word that has plagued me since I was eight years old. I am not normal, strange incidences follow me wherever I go. Normal is a word which alienates anyone with a unique sound in a loud and boisterous world. It's like someone telling you to join the chorus when you have your own song to sing. My brother Angelo is also very different, we look like "normal" people yet we are beautifully alien in our skin. We are tuned into something different, something special. " No worm sandwiches," I announce.
"Scouts honour Baia," his Brown eyes are wide with excitement. My brother is the spit of me, he has large brown eyes that people say swallow you whole, long black bangs and rakish features. Some people say we look Spanish, but with a name like Balthazar? When people ask me where my name comes from I get a bit sheepish, because Balthazar for a girl is a really weird name. " I heard it in a conversation somewhere, and I just fell in love with it," Mother says each time gleefully.I didn't. I have been calling myself Baia since my best friend Saian came up with the nick name and everybody else followed suit. I scan my little brothers lanky frame. He is tall for a ten year old. Angelo is dressed better for the beach than I am, I notice he's wearing odd yellow and green socks, (a new habbit) to match his pair of navy blue jeans, light blue sweatshirt and cream Nike hat. It was our escape, our mission to Mars, when life would hit we would become adventurers surfing the tide of our own imaginations. "That boy still pushing you at school Angelo?" My tone was crisp and serious, stern even to my own ears. He shrugged. " Not so much. Last week he got sick and threw up all over my shoes, everybody laughed at him. I felt bad for him."
" Bad for him, he's made life unbearable for you at school," I felt my heart turn to mush . " Nana said, you know, before she went to angel island, "
" yes, "I urged
" that sometimes people aren't what they seem."
" So what are you guys friends now?" I quickly snatched the sandwiches from the desktops shoving them into the straw basket. " No Angie."
"He's lonely and I'm lonely too,"
" but some people aren't nice," I thought on that for a minute, " not nice enough for my gumdrop." I dropped the basket and leaned over to tickle him before scooping him up into a bear hug and laughing as he erupted into a fit of giggles.
" what's going on here?" Mum says, being lead in by my father. You know that thing they say about couples spending so much time together they look alike? My mother got so freaked out by it, she is now a siren. Her hair is a brilliant frame red, capturing a wide angular jaw, and some soft bedroom brown eyes. People often confuse my mother for that Hollywood actress off the Tv,but they never quite remember her name, and neither really do I. She's one of those Zed icons that's famous enough for you to remember her face, but has done too much reality tv for you to remember her name. She's a head taller than my dad, and wears specs she doesn't need.
" Baia is being weird about people again," Angie sings
" isn't Baia always weird about people." My father says in a throaty voice. My father in comparison to mothers opulent beauty,is sheepishly handsome. A boy in a mans body, light chestnut hair, deep brown eyes, he reminds me of a Roman statue of one of those Gladiators, yet he doesn't command, rather politely offers invitation for acceptance.
" I was brought up to think differently," I offer, " influenced especially by you." My father smiles revealing the dimples that won my mom over, I grab my brother by the hand and say pleasantly " we're off for an adventure."
"By the cove?" Mum crushes out with a hint of alarm
" yes."
" Be careful Hon and stay away from the house by the lake, you know no one visits there anymore."
" I know, I know." I counter, " we're just playing chef." But I feel sorry for the house by the bay, on an island by itself. It felt as desolate as I do sometimes. It's walls echo a secret, and I have a secret of my own.