Malcolm - Mini Mart

“Daddy, look!”

The door burst open as Little Light came barreling in. He nearly tripped over his own feet, both his shoes untied. A piece of paper was clutched in his hand, waved around like a trophy of sorts. 

“Daddy, look,” he shouted again. “Look, look, look!”

Malcolm rose from where we were both sitting on the sofa, arms out as our son ran straight into him. He lifted him up with ease, rearing back as the paper was shoved in his face. It crinkled at the edges, squished between carelessl fingers. Malcolm’s eyes practically went cross as he tried to see what it was.

“I drawed today!”

Hazel was standing in the doorway, staring in at us and smiling at her nephew. She had taken him for a few hours like she normally did, giving Malcolm and I some time for each other. She always brought him home a mess and with some sort of gift for her brother. It was healing for both the siblings.

“You did?” Malcolm asked. “What did you draw?”

“Us!”

Malcolm delicately took the paper from his hands and looked at it. It wasn’t the crude stick figures that I could only do. There was definite shape to it all. Picture Malcolm’s hair was pulled back into a bun with little black swirls to represent the kinks of his locks. His skin was a mixture of brown and what looked like blue because that was currently the color of choice for our boy. His clothes consisted of a boxy shirt and pants with uneven legs. Next to him, was a shorter, identical version. Our son. Our Little Light.

“Well, would you look at that,” Malcolm said, studying the picture with the utmost intensity. “I think this is the best one you’ve drawn yet.”

“I did shading,” he boasted. “Just like you taught me. Lots and lots of shades.”

“I can see that. You’re going to surpass me in no time. Are we going to have to get you your own art show?”

Little Light's eyes went wide. “Can we? Oh, please, daddy! I’ll work super good for it!”

Malcolm laughed, placing the boy down and ruffling his hair. “Let’s start working on some pieces, and we’ll talk about it.” The resounding whoop that fell from his lips followed him as he stole the picture back to pin on his art wall near the kitchen.

“He was really good today,” Hazel said. “I have about seventeen other pictures at home on my walls from him. Reminds me of you.”

Malcolm looked at the boy with a twinge of sadness. I knew what that meant. From the beginning, Malcolm had been hesitant to be a father. The fear that had grown with the idea of having a baby had never abated, but had instead been tolerated. I knew Hazel’s words were the ones that most gave to parents. It was supposed to be a point of pride. But Malcolm didn’t want Little Light to be like him. He didn’t want any of the darkness that had been his youth to touch our child.

“Same time next week?” I asked Hazel, steering the conversation away, so Malcolm wouldn’t have to answer.

“You bet!”

I spent a few moments with Hazel, thanking her profusely for her aunty duties. When she left, I turned back to the kitchen, Malcolm was watching Little Light with a ferocity that I often saw. Usually it appeared when Malcolm would stand in his room at night, afraid that if he blinked, our son would disappear.

“It’s okay, you know,” I told him.  “He can be like you. There are a lot of good parts to you.”

Malcolm shifted. Little Light had already crawled up on the counter, getting out his box of colors and drawing yet another picture. Artistry had taken over him like a fever, and he had become Malcolm’s shadow during work hours as of late. More than anything, he wanted to grow up to be exactly like dad.

“We’ll protect him, right?”

It wasn’t often that I heard fear in Malcolm’s voice. Before having a child, it was once in a blue moon that it even happened. Having a child produced a kind of fear that was unrivaled, however, and Malcolm was wracked with it on a daily basis.

“He isn’t in any danger,” I told Malcolm, not for the first time. “The market is under control. The Barons are toeing the line. He is happy, Mal. He is healthy. He has a good family. He has so many people who love him.” It went unsaid that it was more than what Malcolm or Hazel ever had as children. Little Light had us, had aunty Hazel, had Milo and Laiken. He even had Gabriel and Belladonna keeping tabs on him. Not to mention the embodiment of Death, staving off anything that even looked at him wrong.

“Danger often times comes from within,” Malcolm murmured.

“Mal,” I sighed. But before I could say anything, Little Light turned back to us.

“Daddy, can you color with me?”

Reaching down, I squeezed his hand. It melted the fear, just a little bit. That small voice. The way he looked at us.  “Of course, bud.” Letting me go, he walked over to the counter, sitting himself on a barstool and picking up one of the colors. “Do you remember your color theory?” he asked.

“Nope!”

Malcolm laughed. “Well, sounds like the perfect time for a refresher.”

I didn’t know if Malcolm’s fear would ever be abated. Maybe it was just who he was as a father. But, I did know one thing. Little light healed him. He healed a little bit in all of us. And despite all the fear, all the sleepless nights, Malcolm loved him more than anything else in the world. It was good for him to have someone love him back just as much.