Crayon Dreams
Tonight, Hanna dreamed of crayon drawings.
He woke up in an empty piece of paper. Everything around him was white, like his drawing pad – except for the crayons at his feet. Their primary colors shone vividly in the light that came from nowhere. Well, that was a problem. Short, pudgy fingers plucked the yellow crayon from the ground and drew a sun in the sky. There.
He finished the last ray, smiled, and then picked up the red crayon. He would draw his house, next. It wasn’t clear why this was a good idea, but Hanna, sweet child as he was, simply followed his brain’s directions. Two sides to the house, a roof, and a door were quickly scrawled in front of him; as soon as he’d finished, he reached forward. To his great surprise, the door pushed open to reveal his home! Hanna ventured inside, looking around with wondering eyes. Everything was similar to the house outline he’d drawn – made in crayon, but somehow three-dimensional. He could sit on the couch, he could turn on the television, he could play with the stuffed animals strewn about the floor. It was a bit lonely, though. Everything was silent, except for the noises of the TV. Suddenly, a pot banged in the kitchen.
Hanna wandered in, looking for the source of the noise, but gasped in surprise. Lamont was there! “Daddy!”
“Ah, hello, kiddo,” the man grinned, looking away from his cooking to ruffle the boy’s hair. Lamont wasn’t made of crayon, but he interacted with the crayon-objects just as Hanna did. The smell of something tasty wafted down from the stove. “Almost time for dinner. You hungry?” Hanna nodded, and Lamont ushered him to the table after he’d washed his hands in crayon-water. A plate was set before him, and crayon-pasta put on top of that. Hanna ate voraciously; he felt as if he hadn’t eaten all day. Lamont chuckled.
The doorbell rang. “Oh- be right back,” Lamont said, leaving to get the door. Hanna heard familiar voices, then both Lamont and the visitor returned.
“Uncle Worth!” the boy cried, leaping up from the table to run over and throw his arms around a bone-thin leg.
The recalcitrant doctor simply muttered, “Yeah, yeah, ‘lo to you too,” in his usual manner.
After a moment of snuggling into the fabric of Worth’s pants, Hanna released him. “Can we play a game, Daddy?” Lamont said of course they could. “Hide and seek!” he grinned, and promptly ran off to hide.
In the crayon-bathtub, behind the crayon-drapes, under the crayon-bed – Hanna looked through potential hiding spots and eventually chose the crayon-closet, nestled between crayon-coats. He giggled at hearing Lamont pass, Worth grumbling good-naturedly behind him. Suddenly, the door flew open and light poured in. “Gotcha!” Lamont called, scooping up the wriggling boy and carrying him, upside-down, to the couch, where he gently set him down and began a vicious tickle-attack. Hanna screeched and laughed in protest, pawing at the intruding hands, and eventually Lamont settled on blowing a raspberry against his stomach and sitting next to him. Worth took the rocking chair in the corner, long legs splayed like a resting spider.
“Almost bedtime, kiddo. Go get in your pajamas.” Lamont gave Hanna a gentle push toward his room, where the boy found crayon-pajamas waiting for him on the bed. He put them on, marveling at how the odd, colored fabric moved over his skin, then climbed up into bed as his father entered to tuck him in. Crayon-bedclothes were spread generously over him and a light kiss was placed upon his head. “Sleep tight, Hanna,” Lamont smiled, “Love you.”
“Love you too, Daddy,” Hanna replied, and quickly fell asleep against plush crayon-pillows.
