The Green Glass Eye

Leo dug his fingers into the mud. It was cold. It felt like wet chocolate, but it didn't smell like it. It smelled like old leaves and worms. The sun was out, but it didn't feel warm yet. That was the thing about spring. It lied to you. It looked like summer but felt like winter. He pushed a clump of dirt aside. A pink worm wiggled. It was unhappy about being found. Leo watched it curl into a circle. It was trying to hide from the light. The light was too much for something that lived in the dark.

Blue sat on the swing set ten feet away. The swing set was orange with rust. The chains were heavy and brown. Blue didn't make the swing move. He just sat there, his boots hovering an inch above the dead grass. He wore a yellow raincoat. It was too bright. It hurt Leo’s eyes if he looked at it for too long. Blue wasn't digging. Blue never got dirty. His hands were always clean, even when the world was a mess.

“You’re missing it,” Blue said. His voice was flat. It didn't have any bumps in it. It sounded like a recording of a kid, not a real kid.

Leo didn't look up. He felt a sharp rock under his nail. It hurt. He liked the hurt. It meant he was actually there. “I’m not missing it. It’s here somewhere.”

“It’s not,” Blue said. “You’re just playing with dirt. You’re eleven, Leo. Isn't that a bit old for mud pies?”

“It’s not a mud pie.” Leo wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He left a brown streak across his skin. He felt the grit against his pores. “It’s the thing. The thing from the dream.”

Blue kicked his legs. The swing didn't move. Not even a little bit. The air around Blue seemed still, like he was inside a glass box. “Dreams are just brain trash. My dad says they’re like the stuff you delete from a tablet. It stays in the bin until you empty it.”

“Your dad isn't here,” Leo said. He found a piece of plastic. It was a leg from a toy soldier. It was green and chewed up. A dog had probably found it years ago. Leo put it in his pocket. It felt like a secret. It was a small piece of a bigger story that he didn't know yet.

“My dad is at work,” Blue said. “Where is yours?”

Leo stopped digging. His heart did a weird thump. It felt like a heavy door closing inside his chest. He looked at his hands. They were shaking. The mud made them look like monster hands. “You know where he is.”

“I forget,” Blue said. He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the kind of smile a shark might have if it knew a joke. “Remind me.”

“Shut up, Blue.”

“Make me.”

Leo stood up. His knees popped. He was tall for his age, but he felt small. The backyard felt huge. The fences were high and gray. The trees had tiny green buds on them that looked like little teeth. Everything was trying to grow, but the wind was trying to stop it. A crow landed on the fence. It looked at Leo with one black eye. It didn't make a sound. It just watched.

“You’re not even real,” Leo said. He said it loud. He wanted the crow to hear it. He wanted the trees to hear it.

Blue didn't blink. He never blinked. “If I’m not real, who are you talking to?”

“Myself. I’m lonely. My mom says it happens.”

“Your mom is inside crying,” Blue said. He hopped off the swing. He didn't land with a thud. He just appeared on the grass, standing straight. “She can’t see you. She doesn't want to see you. You remind her of the car.”

Leo felt a hot flash in his neck. It burned. “Don't talk about the car.”

“The glass was everywhere,” Blue said. He started walking toward Leo. He didn't crush the grass. The blades stayed upright under his yellow boots. “It looked like diamonds. You told me that. You said, ‘Look, Blue, diamonds on the road.’ But they weren't diamonds. They were teeth.”

“Stop it,” Leo whispered. He looked down at the hole he had dug. He needed to find the spark. He needed the one thing that was still whole. He dropped to his knees and started throwing dirt. He threw it hard. It hit Blue’s yellow coat and slid off. It didn't leave a stain. It didn't leave a mark. It was like Blue was made of light.

“You can’t hide in the dirt forever,” Blue said. He was standing right over Leo now. He blocked the sun. The shadow he cast was cold. It felt like ice water on Leo’s back. “Eventually, you have to go inside. You have to eat dinner. You have to look at the empty chair.”

“There is no empty chair,” Leo lied. He felt his fingers hit something hard. Not a rock. Not a toy. It was smooth. It was round. He grabbed it and pulled it out.

It was a marble. A deep, forest-green glass marble. It was perfect. No scratches. No chips. It caught the spring sun and glowed. It looked like a tiny, trapped star. It was the stubborn spark he had been looking for. It was real. It was heavy. It was there.

“Look,” Leo said, holding it up. His hand was covered in filth, but the marble stayed bright. “I found it.”

Blue looked at the marble. For the first time, he looked small. He looked like he was fading. The yellow of his coat wasn't as bright. “It’s just a marble, Leo. It doesn't fix anything.”

“It’s mine,” Leo said. He squeezed it. The roundness of it pressed into his palm. It felt like an anchor. It kept him from floating away into the gray sky. “I remember this. My dad gave it to me. At the fair. Before the car. This is real.”

“He’s gone,” Blue said, but his voice was thin now. It sounded like it was coming from a long way away. “You’re alone in the mud.”

“I’m not,” Leo said. He stood up and took a step toward Blue. He wasn't scared anymore. He had the marble. “I’m here. I can feel the wind. I can feel the mud. I can feel my heart. You’re just a shadow.”

Blue narrowed his eyes. “Shadows don't leave.”

“This one does,” Leo said. He put the marble in his pocket. He felt the weight of it against his leg. It was a good weight. It was the weight of being alive.

Blue stared at him. The air began to shimmer around the edges of the yellow raincoat. “You’ll be back. When it gets dark. When the house is quiet. You’ll call for me.”

“Maybe,” Leo said. “But not today.”

Leo turned his back on the swing set. He walked toward the house. The back door was white with peeling paint. He could see his mom through the kitchen window. She was standing by the sink. She wasn't moving. She was just looking out at the yard. She looked like a statue.

Leo reached the porch. He looked back one last time. The swing was empty. The orange rust looked dull in the afternoon light. Blue was gone. The only thing left was the hole in the dirt and the green worm trying to find its way home.

He reached for the doorknob. His hand was still dirty. He didn't care. He wanted to show her the marble. He wanted to show her the spark. He wanted to tell her that the diamonds on the road were gone, but the forest was still in his pocket.

As his fingers touched the cold metal of the handle, he heard a sound. It wasn't the wind. It wasn't a bird. It was a soft, rhythmic clicking. It was coming from inside the house. Click. Click. Click. It sounded like someone tapping a glass marble against a tooth.

Leo froze. His stomach turned over. He looked through the window again. His mom was still there, but she wasn't alone. Behind her, in the shadow of the hallway, a yellow sleeve moved.

Leo’s breath caught in his throat. He looked down at his pocket. The weight was gone. He reached in, but his fingers found only a hole in the lining. The marble was gone. He looked back at the yard. It wasn't in the mud. It wasn't on the grass.

Then he saw it. The marble was on the kitchen windowsill, inside the house. And a small, clean hand was reaching out to pick it up.