He tells me,
“What if I never get to prove it?”
I tell him,
“That is a scary thought. Maybe that was the only opportunity.”
He says,
“There is a devil down in Venice Beach who won’t hang out with me.”
I reply,
“Good. That’s a good thing. You’re growing.”
He looks down at his shoes and coyly says,
“I’m not even spitting up all of that purple stuff anymore.”
I tell him,
“That’s good, too. I’m sure people appreciate that.”
He wanders away for a second and - while facing away - mutters,
“I’m even fine seeing people be grey in the shadows. That was so hard for me.”
I have to reply with enthusiasm,
“Amazing. I’m so happy for you.”
He quickly remarks,
“But my favorite monster isn’t here to see it.”
I don’t know whether that’s true or not so I just say,
“I know they meant a lot, but at least you’re feeling like yourself and that’s what matters.”
He smiles a little and says,
“I did make all those people push out air the other day.”
I tell him,
“Exactly. See, that’s new and you’re good at it.”
He replies,
“Or how the tribal drums sound with my metered milk spill.”
I happily respond,
“Yes, yes, exactly. That too. You knew you’d like that.”
He looks at the lake, his eyes reflecting long, spiked palm trees, and says,
“I don’t dance goofy-footed anymore. You don’t know how that feels.”
I do know, but I also know how much he’s been through so I say,
“I know how much you miss that. I’m sorry.”
He looks angry, then sad, then nods his head with understanding and says,
“Other people are dancing goofy-footed."
There is a cold pause, we both felt the room be filled with the heavy smoke of reminiscence.
"Other people are dancing goofy-footed with my favorite monster.”
I don’t know what to respond because I know that it could make the room cave in, but he was calm so, I said,
“And that’s good for them. We like that for them.”
He looked like a ghost but he smiled and nodded in agreement then said,
“I wouldn’t feel like a landfill inside if I didn’t agree with that.”
I was proud of him and said,
“It takes a lot of courage to appreciate that about oneself.”
He lost the light in his eyes, bled a cute little tear, and said,
"I don't like when you say that to me."
I had forgotten that upset him but I thought he should know it so I said,
"I'm just being honest, you know me."
He and I both know he doesn't belong in this atmosphere.
It hits us at the same time.
He and I both know it's time for him to do his big shredding.
It comes of little surprise.
He puts both palms up facing the sky and whispers,
“Atomized.”