#TWSIMF Chapter 1

[loserboyrobinwrites]

Chapter One: Wild Child

welcome welcome welcome this is the first draft of the first chapter of my novel!! it has NOT been edited. There WILL be mistakes. Apologies for the formatting, it's a little different on here than it is in word. Uhhh tw for the f slur!

This chapter is approximately 3k words! Enjoy!

Atticus

The first things I knew were wild. Wild grass under my feet, rivers gushing though the wild forests, the animals scurrying and hiding about my bare feet. 

   The moss cushioned me as I fell while learning to walk. 

   I knew it then and I know it now that the wild had something to say and something to teach.      My childhood home was in the middle of the woods, nestled against a river that tended to flood during the spring.  

   My mum’s name was Lyllian and my mama’s name was Jude. But I never called them that.  

   Our home felt soft and kind, with warm lights and fireplaces and hot cups of cocoa during the winter. I remember I’d climb over the ends of the staircase railings and on the back of the couch despite my warnings not to. 

   Mama always scolded me and told me I’d have to go to bed early if I kept climbing. I would just pout and poke my tongue out at her.  

   Mum told me stories about frogs in the rain and raised me on apple pies and smiles. She was soft but her hands were calloused from all the wood-chopping she did. She never let me touch the axe, much to my dismay. Mama would smile from where she would be cracking pepper over dinner. 

   Because we were so close to the wild, it was woven into my veins just as securely as the love I was raised on, and I took my first steps on moss near the river.  

   We spent a lot of time outside. We even walked to the school I spent my days at when I was old enough. And I would always insist on walking barefoot, even when I was old enough to put my shoes on by myself.  

   Mama smiled at it, but Mum would always sigh and give me a pointed glance. She made me put on my shoes before I went inside the school building.  

   I was a nightmare as a student. I would always be itching to run, and I’d take off my shoes at every chance I got. I would mimic the wolves I heard howling in the woods, and I would squawk back at the birds outside. I couldn’t sit still in class, and I scribbled on my worksheets. 

   My handwriting was horrifically bad, barely even legible. There were many parent-teacher meetings and extracurricular lessons so that I wouldn’t fall behind. Mum always made sure to sit next to me at the kitchen table and help me with my letters and words, and I remember she smelled of fireplace smoke and incense.  

    Mama would always ask me if I’d done my homework and every time I would say yes even if I hadn’t. And she’d hug me and her work shirt would smell of grease and metal but on weekends she’d smell of pine needles and the woodshed.  

~-~

  Once, there was a movie that I watched, but I don’t remember anything about it except the portrait of a snarling, seething wolf.     When I was seven or eight, a boy named Harlow approached me at lunchtime and said, in a rather rude tone, “Michael says you have faggots for parents.” 

   Now I didn’t know what that word meant, so I asked him, my feet digging into the soil. 

   “It means they’re...” he leaned in to whisper to me. “They’re gay.” 

   I looked at him quizzically, still not sure what he meant.  

   Harlow huffed. “You have two mums,” he said pointedly.  

   I took a bite of my sandwich and nodded.  

   Harlow’s eyes widened. “Really? It’s true?” 

   I frowned and nodded. I swallowed my mouthful of sandwich. “Is that bad?” 

   Harlow stared at me in shock. “Of-Of course it’s bad! How will you grow big and strong without a dad?” 

   At this, the image of the snarling wolf appeared in my mind and rage rushed through me. I’m not sure why. I hardened my gaze and Harlow seemed to stumble a bit.  

   And then I tackled him to the floor with a guttural growl. He screeched and all at once that rage disappeared, and I stood up, backed off and turned away, fleeing into the trees. 

   I didn’t look back. 

~-~

Mama sighed as I sat on my hands and swung my legs back and forth. The clock on the wall ticked incessantly, and the air conditioning had been turned full.     It was one of those units that swung the blast of freezing air back and forth, so every twenty or so seconds I would be hit with a chill.      Across the desk in front of me was Mrs. Hillywinkle, her wrinkled face scrutinizing the documents in front of her. Her computer whirred so loudly I thought it might take flight. 

   Mama had come from the shop early to come to this meeting. Usually Mum would do it, but she had been held up on something she called “investigative precautions”.      So there I sat, in the very uncomfortable wooden chair of the principal’s office, nervously swinging my legs.      Every so often the air conditioning unit would brush the papers of artwork on the wall with a rustling sound.      The wind outside howled up a ruckus, and I resisted the urge to howl back. Mama fiddled with the edge of her shirt that smelled of grease and metal. It was how I knew it was a Wednesday. Mama sighed and I pretended not to notice the pointed glare she shot at me.  

   Mrs. Hillywinkle seemed to have forgotten we were there.     Mama cleared her throat, and Mrs. Hillywinkle peered up over her half-moon glasses.     She put down the paper she seemed to think was so important and sighed. “Ms. James-Harriet.” 

   “It’s Mrs. James-Harriet, actually,” Mama said, frowning.      Mrs. Hillywinkle paused for a moment and narrowed her eyes at Mama. “Mrs. James-Harriet.”     Mama nodded.      Mrs. Hillywinkle paused again. Then, “I’m sure you know why you’re here.”     Mama shook her head. “I don’t.”     Mrs. Hillywinkle hesitated to give me a glance. “Your... Atticus here assaulted another student.” 

   Mama seemed to stop in surprise. She turned to look at me and for once I saw the brewing wild in her dark eyes. The moment quickly passed, and she turned back to Mrs. Hillywinkle. “He wouldn’t.” Her hands turned to fists around her trousers.      Mrs. Hillywinkle raised an eyebrow. “Well, he did. Tackled another student to the ground.”     Mama inhaled. “And what provoked this?”     “Nothing, the student says he was minding his own business and Atticus came out of nowhere and tackled him onto the ground—”     “That’s not true!” I snapped, rather out of the blue. 

   “Atticus,” Mama hissed.      I shook her off. “I was the one minding my business,” I corrected. “He came up to me and told me that I couldn’t grow big and strong because... because I don’t have a dad.” 

   Mama took a sharp breath.      Mrs. Hillywinkle raised an eyebrow. “And you tackled him to the ground?” 

   I nodded. “He deserved it.” 

   Mama sighed. “I’m so sorry, he’s not normally like this—” 

   Mrs. Hillywinkle held up a hand. “I’m sure. But we’re worried about his home life. Is there any reason you can think of that would cause him to react with violence?”     Mama was taken aback. I stiffened. Mama sighed. “No. We’ve never hit him or each other.”     Mrs. Hillywinkle scribbled something down.     I continued to swing my legs.   ~-~

I gripped mama’s hand tight as we began walking down the long dirt road to home.      She didn’t speak. I wished she did. She was like that sometimes, when she was angry with me.     She’d get all quiet and I wouldn’t speak either because if I did I was sure it wouldn’t end well.     I sighed.      She squeezed my hand. “I’m not angry at you.”     I nodded.     “I’m just frustrated. With that boy. And the world. Me and your mother have tried so hard to shield you from those who speak bad about us, but...” she trailed off with a sigh.     I nodded.      Her eyes seemed to glisten but not with tears, with something I couldn’t quite place. Her steps on the gravel seemed to be profound and strong. Her braids rocked with every step she took. I squeezed her hand.     She looked down at me and smiled.  

   I tried to smile back. 

   And that image of the snarling wolf appeared in front of my eyes again and I inhaled and stopped walking and my hand slipped from mama’s and I couldn’t shake the picture from my mind.      Mama turned and furrowed her eyebrows at me as I seethed, hands balled into fists.      It was like every part of me was alive, like every part I had ever pushed down had just somehow surfaced and was screaming rabid desires and I wanted to listen, but I didn’t know what they were saying, I just knew that they were loud and scary and feral and wild. 

   I wanted to listen to their screeching wild wants and needs but I couldn’t, I didn’t have the legs or the teeth or the speed or the nose or the right ears that I would need if I wanted to listen and obey and so I just stood there, on the dirt road with my mama in front of me, asking what was wrong.     And I wanted to growl and howl and screech at her just like those wild things were begging me to. 

   I met her gaze and she took a breath, like... like she was afraid of me and some part of me seemed to jump at the thought, seemed to gleefully cry out at the notion that I was scary that I was powerful that I was wild.  

   I seethed there on the dirt road, wanting to howl because those wild things begged me to, and those wild things were deep within the ground and the trees and they were in the air and I was them I was them and they were me. 

   “Atticus.”     The voice cut through like a knife and all at once everything stopped and I took a breath and I could see my mama again and she looked so worried. 

   I tried to breathe, I took long deep breaths as my mama’s hand was on my chest and she whispered to me softly about how it was okay and that I was going to be okay and whatever it was that was bothering me was gone now and I didn’t have to be afraid.  

   I breathed, long and low. The wild things stopped their screeching and the wild things weren’t in the trees and the wild things weren’t chasing me. 

   I was grounded and my mama was there with me.      “Atticus, are you okay?” Mama asked after a moment of just the wind in the leaves and my breathing.     I nodded.  

   And so, we carried on. To home. My feet were wobbling and my legs were shaking but I felt more alive than I ever had been.      Whole. 

   That’s what I felt. And Mrs. Hillywinkle couldn’t do anything about it because my mum would call her a word I wasn’t allowed to say.      I followed mama into the living room where the fireplace sat when we got home. She sat me down in the big armchair that was very squishy and kneeled in front of me.      She said, “Atticus, did that boy who you tackled say anything?”     I nodded. “Lots of things. He called you and mum a word that I don’t think he knew the meaning of.”     Mama tilted her head, braids rocking again. “And was that word?”     I hesitated. “I don’t know what it means either.”     Mama shifted closer. “I promise you right now, Ti-Ti, that if you repeat what he said I won’t be angry at you.”     There was silence. Even the trees seemed to be holding their breath. I stared at them through the large windows.      “Ti-Ti?” Mama asked.  

   I looked back at her. I hesitated. She blinked at me. I said, “he... he told me that I had faggots for parents.”     Mama’s eyes flashed. She hardened her gaze and muttered something under her breath.      “What does it mean?” I asked.      Mama sighed and looked at the floor. “It means someone who loves people who are the same gender as them. Like me, I’m a woman who loves another woman.”     I nodded. “I love you. And I love Oakley. What does that make me?”     Oakley was my best friend for ever and ever. We played together at school all the time and sometimes he would even howl at the trees with me. 

   Mama chuckled. “No, I don’t think it’s like that, Ti-Ti. The way that I love your mum is different to the way I love you. And I’m not sure you’ll experience that kind of love for a while yet.”       I nodded. “But what’s so bad about that word that Harlow said?”     Mama sighed. “It’s a word used to insult people like me. It shouldn’t be said by anybody, so I don’t want to hear you repeating it.”     I nodded again. “Okay.” 

   She turned back to me. “If he says it again, just tell me, alright? And I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you.”     “Okay,” I said again.  

   Her braids shifted again as she leaned back. “Ti-Ti,” she started. “Back on the road.”     There was silence as she tried to formulate her words. “What happened?”     I wished the silence would come back. I didn’t want to tell her about the wild things in my head who screamed at me. I really, really didn’t. It felt... wrong, somehow. Like if someone knew about the screeching, they would hate me. Or throw me out, or make me scared of them. Or maybe the wild things wouldn’t come back, or they’d be there for every second. And both of those possibilities scared me.  

   I didn’t like being scared. I stared at her, my mouth open like I was going to say something, but the words died on my tongue. 

   Mama leaned forward, eyes open and ready to listen. “It’s okay, whatever it was. You can tell me.”     I huffed. “I don’t know,” I lied. 

   Mama raised her eyebrow. “You’re lying.”     “I am not!” I said indignantly.      Mama laughed. “Yes, you are,” she teased, leaning forward. “You’re lying and I know you are because you chewed on your lip before you answered.” She extended her hands to me and began to tickle my sides. “You’re lying, Ti-Ti,” she said as I burst out with laughter.     She leaned to blow a raspberry on my forehead as I squirmed away from her tickles.      And I think she forgot about the time on the road, and I think I did too. I think the wild creatures in my head were gone and they didn’t dare come back and ruin my mama’s love. 

~-~

Mum got home late that night, and she looked like a mess. Like she’d “been dragged through a bush by her ankles,” as Mama put it when she took mum by her hand and kissed her cheek.  

   I rushed up to her to show her the drawing I’d done of a wolf howling at the moon. Mum took it from me and admired it for a moment. A long moment. I waited, brimming with anticipation.      She looked to me over the paper with wide eyes. “You drew this?”     I nodded enthusiastically.     Mum gasped. “Why, I never thought I’d be in the presence of such an artist!” She exclaimed. “Come look at this, don’t you think the linework is just astounding?” she asked Mama.     Mama smiled. “Very. We ought to hang it up.” 

   Mum nodded, proud. “Immediately!”     And so she did just that. It was the centerpiece of the fridge. 

   I stared at it for a long while. It seemed so grand. Like the most important place a thing could be was in the middle of the fridge.      We lit the fireplace and drew the curtains, and I had a cup of hot chocolate while Mama placed another log on the fire and mum laughed when mama accidentally dropped the wood onto the floor with a thud.      I smiled and turned to glance at the fridge again. My drawing of the wolf. And then Mum sat next to me and pulled me to her side and I was greeted with the comfortable smell of fireplace smoke and incense.       Mama made a remark about stealing all the cuddles and joined mum on the other side of me and suddenly it smelled of pine needles and the woodshed and I was very safe and that’s what it smelled of, it smelled of safety. 

   I was safe with them and they would protect me and I would protect them and my drawings would be hung in the centre of the fridge and I would have cups of hot chocolate even when I was supposed to be asleep. And when I did fall asleep in my parents’ arms, I would always wake up in my bed the next morning without fail.   ~-~

   I have vague memories of being carried to my room and the soft voice of Mama telling me goodnight, but that’s all. I don’t remember when I fell asleep.     I remember my dreams, though. I’ve always remembered my dreams, and I’m not sure why. I remember almost every dream I’ve ever had. Most of them are nonsense, as dreams often are. But this one... this one was different. It was filled with screeching and howling and wolves snarling in my face and then I was the wolf snarling in my face.      I was the scary, not the scared, and I liked it.     I was angry and loud and hunting and screaming and I was obeying the wild things in my mind that told me to hunt and howl. The wild things in my mind didn’t sleep, and some things never do, and I don’t think I could either.  

   I was wild and I was hunting and I was the wolf snarling in my face and I was the screeching things in my mind and I was howling not just at the trees but I was howling at everything that was and that has been.      I woke up screaming that there were wild things in my head trying to hunt me. 

[12-toads-in-a-trench-coat]

behold, the silly little guys in my head

Chapter One: Wild Child

welcome welcome welcome this is the first draft of the first chapter of my novel!! it has NOT been edited. There WILL be mistakes. Apologies for the formatting, it's a little different on here than it is in word. Uhhh tw for the f slur!

This chapter is approximately 3k words! Enjoy!

Atticus

The first things I knew were wild. Wild grass under my feet, rivers gushing though the wild forests, the animals scurrying and hiding about my bare feet. 

   The moss cushioned me as I fell while learning to walk. 

   I knew it then and I know it now that the wild had something to say and something to teach.      My childhood home was in the middle of the woods, nestled against a river that tended to flood during the spring.  

   My mum’s name was Lyllian and my mama’s name was Jude. But I never called them that.  

   Our home felt soft and kind, with warm lights and fireplaces and hot cups of cocoa during the winter. I remember I’d climb over the ends of the staircase railings and on the back of the couch despite my warnings not to. 

   Mama always scolded me and told me I’d have to go to bed early if I kept climbing. I would just pout and poke my tongue out at her.  

   Mum told me stories about frogs in the rain and raised me on apple pies and smiles. She was soft but her hands were calloused from all the wood-chopping she did. She never let me touch the axe, much to my dismay. Mama would smile from where she would be cracking pepper over dinner. 

   Because we were so close to the wild, it was woven into my veins just as securely as the love I was raised on, and I took my first steps on moss near the river.  

   We spent a lot of time outside. We even walked to the school I spent my days at when I was old enough. And I would always insist on walking barefoot, even when I was old enough to put my shoes on by myself.  

   Mama smiled at it, but Mum would always sigh and give me a pointed glance. She made me put on my shoes before I went inside the school building.  

   I was a nightmare as a student. I would always be itching to run, and I’d take off my shoes at every chance I got. I would mimic the wolves I heard howling in the woods, and I would squawk back at the birds outside. I couldn’t sit still in class, and I scribbled on my worksheets. 

   My handwriting was horrifically bad, barely even legible. There were many parent-teacher meetings and extracurricular lessons so that I wouldn’t fall behind. Mum always made sure to sit next to me at the kitchen table and help me with my letters and words, and I remember she smelled of fireplace smoke and incense.  

    Mama would always ask me if I’d done my homework and every time I would say yes even if I hadn’t. And she’d hug me and her work shirt would smell of grease and metal but on weekends she’d smell of pine needles and the woodshed.  

~-~

  Once, there was a movie that I watched, but I don’t remember anything about it except the portrait of a snarling, seething wolf.     When I was seven or eight, a boy named Harlow approached me at lunchtime and said, in a rather rude tone, “Michael says you have faggots for parents.” 

   Now I didn’t know what that word meant, so I asked him, my feet digging into the soil. 

   “It means they’re...” he leaned in to whisper to me. “They’re gay.” 

   I looked at him quizzically, still not sure what he meant.  

   Harlow huffed. “You have two mums,” he said pointedly.  

   I took a bite of my sandwich and nodded.  

   Harlow’s eyes widened. “Really? It’s true?” 

   I frowned and nodded. I swallowed my mouthful of sandwich. “Is that bad?” 

   Harlow stared at me in shock. “Of-Of course it’s bad! How will you grow big and strong without a dad?” 

   At this, the image of the snarling wolf appeared in my mind and rage rushed through me. I’m not sure why. I hardened my gaze and Harlow seemed to stumble a bit.  

   And then I tackled him to the floor with a guttural growl. He screeched and all at once that rage disappeared, and I stood up, backed off and turned away, fleeing into the trees. 

   I didn’t look back. 

~-~

Mama sighed as I sat on my hands and swung my legs back and forth. The clock on the wall ticked incessantly, and the air conditioning had been turned full.     It was one of those units that swung the blast of freezing air back and forth, so every twenty or so seconds I would be hit with a chill.      Across the desk in front of me was Mrs. Hillywinkle, her wrinkled face scrutinizing the documents in front of her. Her computer whirred so loudly I thought it might take flight. 

   Mama had come from the shop early to come to this meeting. Usually Mum would do it, but she had been held up on something she called “investigative precautions”.      So there I sat, in the very uncomfortable wooden chair of the principal’s office, nervously swinging my legs.      Every so often the air conditioning unit would brush the papers of artwork on the wall with a rustling sound.      The wind outside howled up a ruckus, and I resisted the urge to howl back. Mama fiddled with the edge of her shirt that smelled of grease and metal. It was how I knew it was a Wednesday. Mama sighed and I pretended not to notice the pointed glare she shot at me.  

   Mrs. Hillywinkle seemed to have forgotten we were there.     Mama cleared her throat, and Mrs. Hillywinkle peered up over her half-moon glasses.     She put down the paper she seemed to think was so important and sighed. “Ms. James-Harriet.” 

   “It’s Mrs. James-Harriet, actually,” Mama said, frowning.      Mrs. Hillywinkle paused for a moment and narrowed her eyes at Mama. “Mrs. James-Harriet.”     Mama nodded.      Mrs. Hillywinkle paused again. Then, “I’m sure you know why you’re here.”     Mama shook her head. “I don’t.”     Mrs. Hillywinkle hesitated to give me a glance. “Your... Atticus here assaulted another student.” 

   Mama seemed to stop in surprise. She turned to look at me and for once I saw the brewing wild in her dark eyes. The moment quickly passed, and she turned back to Mrs. Hillywinkle. “He wouldn’t.” Her hands turned to fists around her trousers.      Mrs. Hillywinkle raised an eyebrow. “Well, he did. Tackled another student to the ground.”     Mama inhaled. “And what provoked this?”     “Nothing, the student says he was minding his own business and Atticus came out of nowhere and tackled him onto the ground—”     “That’s not true!” I snapped, rather out of the blue. 

   “Atticus,” Mama hissed.      I shook her off. “I was the one minding my business,” I corrected. “He came up to me and told me that I couldn’t grow big and strong because... because I don’t have a dad.” 

   Mama took a sharp breath.      Mrs. Hillywinkle raised an eyebrow. “And you tackled him to the ground?” 

   I nodded. “He deserved it.” 

   Mama sighed. “I’m so sorry, he’s not normally like this—” 

   Mrs. Hillywinkle held up a hand. “I’m sure. But we’re worried about his home life. Is there any reason you can think of that would cause him to react with violence?”     Mama was taken aback. I stiffened. Mama sighed. “No. We’ve never hit him or each other.”     Mrs. Hillywinkle scribbled something down.     I continued to swing my legs.   ~-~

I gripped mama’s hand tight as we began walking down the long dirt road to home.      She didn’t speak. I wished she did. She was like that sometimes, when she was angry with me.     She’d get all quiet and I wouldn’t speak either because if I did I was sure it wouldn’t end well.     I sighed.      She squeezed my hand. “I’m not angry at you.”     I nodded.     “I’m just frustrated. With that boy. And the world. Me and your mother have tried so hard to shield you from those who speak bad about us, but...” she trailed off with a sigh.     I nodded.      Her eyes seemed to glisten but not with tears, with something I couldn’t quite place. Her steps on the gravel seemed to be profound and strong. Her braids rocked with every step she took. I squeezed her hand.     She looked down at me and smiled.  

   I tried to smile back. 

   And that image of the snarling wolf appeared in front of my eyes again and I inhaled and stopped walking and my hand slipped from mama’s and I couldn’t shake the picture from my mind.      Mama turned and furrowed her eyebrows at me as I seethed, hands balled into fists.      It was like every part of me was alive, like every part I had ever pushed down had just somehow surfaced and was screaming rabid desires and I wanted to listen, but I didn’t know what they were saying, I just knew that they were loud and scary and feral and wild. 

   I wanted to listen to their screeching wild wants and needs but I couldn’t, I didn’t have the legs or the teeth or the speed or the nose or the right ears that I would need if I wanted to listen and obey and so I just stood there, on the dirt road with my mama in front of me, asking what was wrong.     And I wanted to growl and howl and screech at her just like those wild things were begging me to. 

   I met her gaze and she took a breath, like... like she was afraid of me and some part of me seemed to jump at the thought, seemed to gleefully cry out at the notion that I was scary that I was powerful that I was wild.  

   I seethed there on the dirt road, wanting to howl because those wild things begged me to, and those wild things were deep within the ground and the trees and they were in the air and I was them I was them and they were me. 

   “Atticus.”     The voice cut through like a knife and all at once everything stopped and I took a breath and I could see my mama again and she looked so worried. 

   I tried to breathe, I took long deep breaths as my mama’s hand was on my chest and she whispered to me softly about how it was okay and that I was going to be okay and whatever it was that was bothering me was gone now and I didn’t have to be afraid.  

   I breathed, long and low. The wild things stopped their screeching and the wild things weren’t in the trees and the wild things weren’t chasing me. 

   I was grounded and my mama was there with me.      “Atticus, are you okay?” Mama asked after a moment of just the wind in the leaves and my breathing.     I nodded.  

   And so, we carried on. To home. My feet were wobbling and my legs were shaking but I felt more alive than I ever had been.      Whole. 

   That’s what I felt. And Mrs. Hillywinkle couldn’t do anything about it because my mum would call her a word I wasn’t allowed to say.      I followed mama into the living room where the fireplace sat when we got home. She sat me down in the big armchair that was very squishy and kneeled in front of me.      She said, “Atticus, did that boy who you tackled say anything?”     I nodded. “Lots of things. He called you and mum a word that I don’t think he knew the meaning of.”     Mama tilted her head, braids rocking again. “And was that word?”     I hesitated. “I don’t know what it means either.”     Mama shifted closer. “I promise you right now, Ti-Ti, that if you repeat what he said I won’t be angry at you.”     There was silence. Even the trees seemed to be holding their breath. I stared at them through the large windows.      “Ti-Ti?” Mama asked.  

   I looked back at her. I hesitated. She blinked at me. I said, “he... he told me that I had faggots for parents.”     Mama’s eyes flashed. She hardened her gaze and muttered something under her breath.      “What does it mean?” I asked.      Mama sighed and looked at the floor. “It means someone who loves people who are the same gender as them. Like me, I’m a woman who loves another woman.”     I nodded. “I love you. And I love Oakley. What does that make me?”     Oakley was my best friend for ever and ever. We played together at school all the time and sometimes he would even howl at the trees with me. 

   Mama chuckled. “No, I don’t think it’s like that, Ti-Ti. The way that I love your mum is different to the way I love you. And I’m not sure you’ll experience that kind of love for a while yet.”       I nodded. “But what’s so bad about that word that Harlow said?”     Mama sighed. “It’s a word used to insult people like me. It shouldn’t be said by anybody, so I don’t want to hear you repeating it.”     I nodded again. “Okay.” 

   She turned back to me. “If he says it again, just tell me, alright? And I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you.”     “Okay,” I said again.  

   Her braids shifted again as she leaned back. “Ti-Ti,” she started. “Back on the road.”     There was silence as she tried to formulate her words. “What happened?”     I wished the silence would come back. I didn’t want to tell her about the wild things in my head who screamed at me. I really, really didn’t. It felt... wrong, somehow. Like if someone knew about the screeching, they would hate me. Or throw me out, or make me scared of them. Or maybe the wild things wouldn’t come back, or they’d be there for every second. And both of those possibilities scared me.  

   I didn’t like being scared. I stared at her, my mouth open like I was going to say something, but the words died on my tongue. 

   Mama leaned forward, eyes open and ready to listen. “It’s okay, whatever it was. You can tell me.”     I huffed. “I don’t know,” I lied. 

   Mama raised her eyebrow. “You’re lying.”     “I am not!” I said indignantly.      Mama laughed. “Yes, you are,” she teased, leaning forward. “You’re lying and I know you are because you chewed on your lip before you answered.” She extended her hands to me and began to tickle my sides. “You’re lying, Ti-Ti,” she said as I burst out with laughter.     She leaned to blow a raspberry on my forehead as I squirmed away from her tickles.      And I think she forgot about the time on the road, and I think I did too. I think the wild creatures in my head were gone and they didn’t dare come back and ruin my mama’s love. 

~-~

Mum got home late that night, and she looked like a mess. Like she’d “been dragged through a bush by her ankles,” as Mama put it when she took mum by her hand and kissed her cheek.  

   I rushed up to her to show her the drawing I’d done of a wolf howling at the moon. Mum took it from me and admired it for a moment. A long moment. I waited, brimming with anticipation.      She looked to me over the paper with wide eyes. “You drew this?”     I nodded enthusiastically.     Mum gasped. “Why, I never thought I’d be in the presence of such an artist!” She exclaimed. “Come look at this, don’t you think the linework is just astounding?” she asked Mama.     Mama smiled. “Very. We ought to hang it up.” 

   Mum nodded, proud. “Immediately!”     And so she did just that. It was the centerpiece of the fridge. 

   I stared at it for a long while. It seemed so grand. Like the most important place a thing could be was in the middle of the fridge.      We lit the fireplace and drew the curtains, and I had a cup of hot chocolate while Mama placed another log on the fire and mum laughed when mama accidentally dropped the wood onto the floor with a thud.      I smiled and turned to glance at the fridge again. My drawing of the wolf. And then Mum sat next to me and pulled me to her side and I was greeted with the comfortable smell of fireplace smoke and incense.       Mama made a remark about stealing all the cuddles and joined mum on the other side of me and suddenly it smelled of pine needles and the woodshed and I was very safe and that’s what it smelled of, it smelled of safety. 

   I was safe with them and they would protect me and I would protect them and my drawings would be hung in the centre of the fridge and I would have cups of hot chocolate even when I was supposed to be asleep. And when I did fall asleep in my parents’ arms, I would always wake up in my bed the next morning without fail.   ~-~

   I have vague memories of being carried to my room and the soft voice of Mama telling me goodnight, but that’s all. I don’t remember when I fell asleep.     I remember my dreams, though. I’ve always remembered my dreams, and I’m not sure why. I remember almost every dream I’ve ever had. Most of them are nonsense, as dreams often are. But this one... this one was different. It was filled with screeching and howling and wolves snarling in my face and then I was the wolf snarling in my face.      I was the scary, not the scared, and I liked it.     I was angry and loud and hunting and screaming and I was obeying the wild things in my mind that told me to hunt and howl. The wild things in my mind didn’t sleep, and some things never do, and I don’t think I could either.  

   I was wild and I was hunting and I was the wolf snarling in my face and I was the screeching things in my mind and I was howling not just at the trees but I was howling at everything that was and that has been.      I woke up screaming that there were wild things in my head trying to hunt me.