The Light From Underneath by Franco Machado-Pesce
Dinner was ready at six o’clock, just like it was every single night. Punctuality was the key to success and success was the key to happiness. Or at least, that’s what Angelo’s mother always said. He never really took this seriously though because in his life everything was too unpredictable to ever follow a consistent schedule. Then again, he hasn’t been very successful recently.
His father sat down as soon as the minute hand moved one-sixtieth of an hour, and Angelo’s little sister, Clara, fell into her seat right after. A notebook in his father’s hand, a pen in between his teeth, and an anxious foot tapping on the wooden floor. Just like normal. Clara waited eagerly with her hands in her lap as she watched her mother set the meal on the table. Since his family followed such a strict schedule, Angelo developed a game. Every night he would sit down at six o’clock, wait for his family to do the same, and then guess the menu of the night as it settled onto the table. When the aroma from the kitchen hit his nose, he was able to narrow it down. Meatloaf, he thought to himself. Then a sudden hint of wine vapor struck his senses. With Merlot. Voila, just as he thought, his mother’s signature wine-cooked meatloaf surrounded by a rice pilaf. He had a streak of 746 correct assumptions to the date. Probably because it wasn’t difficult to tell since they had the same thing for dinner.
Each.
And every.
Night.
The clock struck 6:05 PM and his mother began the daily questionnaire as she served the dinner.
“How was school?” Good.
“Peter, how was work?” Good.
“Angelo, have you done your homework?” Yes.
“Clara, honey, did you enjoy being with your grandparents today?” Always.
Angelo hated the mundane small talk that would travel throughout the dinner table. They were only probing questions with no real intention of getting to know how his actual day, and he learned that it was best to just stick to the routine and answer simply, yes or of course mother. Pattern and punctuality were the only two things his parents understood anyway.
Angelo enjoyed having Clara there with him though. Five turning six, she was starting to learn how to limit her words so that they appealed to their parents. Like Angelo though, her conversations with the parents weren’t authentic. Angelo knew because he understood his real sister. Clara loved to write and tell stories, even if they were grammatically incomprehensible or overdramatic. Angelo enjoyed listening to them and laughing at their spontaneity. Her fantastical stories were his favorites though. One night she would be a hero in a golden armor defeating a troll in the mountains of East Ilvermore and others she would be the first astronaut to fly into the gas giant, Jupiter. He could never predict with his sister, which is why he absolutely loved her. To his parents though, she was just Clara, the girl who would go to her grandparent’s home after daycare and watch television every afternoon.
Supper was over quickly, or as Clara loved to say, “Gee it was in a jiffy,” Angelo always knew what she meant, but sometimes it didn’t make sense and he concluded that she liked saying it because it rhymed. So works the rhythmic mind of a storyteller. The boy helped wash the leftover loaf from the dishes and silverware before he went up to his room to finish any homework or watch a movie. Or at least, that’s what his parents assumed he did.
Angelo scurried swiftly past his door and headed straight for his closet. A loud clank cried out from underneath, he notices a light reflecting from inside. He let out a frustrated groan and turned the door handle to reveal a radiant golden room. In the far corner was a rather disorganized desk with pens and papers dispersed all around. Blueprints and designs hung from coat hangers on the closet shelves and conquered every bit of space that should have been cluttered with clothing. A trashcan overflowed with paper balls and led Angelo’s eyes up onto a small nest-like bed. The small nest was formed out of scrap paper with multiple colors that followed no specific coordination or palette, but it was empty. Angelo sneaked into the closet and shut the door behind him slowly, careful not to trigger anything.A hinge squeaked and suddenly Angelo slammed the door shut, which was followed by a loud thud as something hit the doorway and fell onto the floor. Angelo gets on his knees and pinches something with a stern expression on his face.
“Nice try Finx,” a little lustered green tail struggled in between his fingers, “maybe you’ll have better luck next time, you little vandal.” He set the moving object onto the bed and smiled. His hand lifted up and revealed a wondrous creature. A small, forest colored dragon curled up in rebellion and turned away from him as a little smoke puff escaped its mouth. “Okay, be as mad all you want little guy, but remember,” Angelo pulled a little piece of meatloaf out of his pocket, “I’m the one who always brings you your favorite food.” The dragon’s expression rapidly changed and it jumped at the piece of meat that dangled from Angelo’s hand. He flapped his wings but sadly could not fly. There was a little tear in the leathery skin of his left one that hurt the dragon every time it tried to levitate in the air. Angelo lowered his hands and the dragon finally chomped into the meat and without even taking a moment to savor it, swallowed it whole. Gee, it was in a jiffy. Angelo smiled and walked to his desk, grabbing blueprints from the hangers on the way.
He sat on a wooden barstool, that he stole from the garage, and pondered new ideas. On the paper he grabbed was an outline of a wing. Not an airplane one or a bird’s, but that for the baby dragon. Finx came up from behind and clawed Angelo’s shirt until he made it to his shoulder, where he gazed at the blueprints with the boy. It let out a dainty roar and brushed its head against Angelo’s cheek.
“I know, I know, it’s just going to take a while buddy,” he stroked the dragon’s head, “but I’m feeling good about this one.” Angelo pulled open his drawer and took out small pieces of wood, leather fabric, and metal rods. When Finx saw the little aluminum bars, he started to shake its tail quickly. With a smack of its lips, Finx then jumped off the shoulder and dived for the pieces of metal. Angelo, however, whipped them right out of the projected trajectory of the dragon and threw them back into the drawer. With a smack, the compartment shut and left a frustrated dragon pouncing around the desk
“Finx, we’ve talked about this,” Angelo scolded, “we can’t keep having you eat all of the metal bits or else how am I going to put this thing together for you?” He gave the animal a soft glare and Finx dropped its head. Defeated. “Not long now, and when you can fly, I promise that you can go and chew on any valuable metal you find. But right now, I have to focus. Okay?” The dragon purred and curled into a ball to let the boy work.
Angelo grabbed his tools from underneath his desk, looked at the blueprint again, and began to connect the pieces of wood. Before Finx could even fall asleep for his routine nap though, Angelo had already assembled the prototype wing. It was very elegant with a skeletal structure made of wood with the steel rods giving it stability. Then the actual was made of a thin layer of leather that looked identical to Finx’s actual skin. The dragon’s eyes opened wide and he let out a little puff in celebration of the boy’s work. Proud, Angelo grabbed his invention and clicked it onto the dragon’s back, right where its injured wing was. Finx struck a magisterial pose and opened his span out to see how it looked. The contraption was barely noticeable and in fact, covered up the torn part of the animal’s actual body perfectly. Then, he started to flutter and he rose. Finx was delighted as he kept levitating, but then he fell right back down, which hit the dragon with disappointment.
“I was so close,” Angelo muttered, “sorry about that Finx.” He looked down and started revising his blueprint. “Don’t worry though, we almost go it.” The dragon let out another roar and got back on the boy’s shoulder. Then there was a knock on the door.
Angelo froze, no one ever knocked. He hid all his materials and told Finx to hide. He went to the door and slowly turned the knob. He took a peek, and to his relief, met the beautiful blue eyes of his sister.
“Oh,” he sighed, “Clara, it’s just you.” He opened the door and let her in.
“Yeah weirdo, who did you think it was?” She sipped on a juice box and made herself comfortable in a pile of clothes that were sprawled on the floor.
Angelo went back to his desk and played around with a screw into a new wing foundation. Finx crept out from the shadows and pounced on Clara cheerfully.
“How is the wing going?” She giggled.
“It’s going little sis, it’s going.” He peered through the base in the light and tightened the screws.
“I think that Finx should just be happy with his one wing, so he can stay with us,” said Clara as she poked the dragon’s head.
“We can’t do that,” Angelo replied, “he has to go back home?”
“Where do you think that is exactly? Do you think there are more dragons? OH, do you think they’re larger like dinosaur big?”
“I don’t know, Clara. Maybe. Hey speaking of where things should be, aren’t you supposed to be watching TV? Mom and dad are going to come look for you if you’re not sticking to their routine.”
“Pish posh big brother,” Clara rose and leaned on Angelo’s back, “this is more exciting than watching TV any-” another voice rang in the house. It was their mother.
“Clara… Claraaa…. CLARA where are you?!” Her footsteps got closer and closer.
“Get out of here now or she’ll see what I’m doing and I’m supposed to be working on school work.”
“Gee, that was a jiffy- but I don’t want to leave.” Clara was very bright, but just as stubborn. The knob of the door twisted and it flew open. Their mother loomed over them.
“What do you two think you’re doing in here?” Angelo hid his blueprints.
“Uhhh, physics homework- I’m supposed to be designing something that allows an object to float using angular momentum, turbulence, and drag.” Angelo shoved his sister a bit.
“And I uhh… got lost?” If there was such a terrible excuse for the existence of all excuses, there it was. Angelo’s mother looked over the desk suspiciously and saw the sketches.
“You mean a wing, Angelo?” She lifted her eyebrow. Finx hid under the boy’s chest.
“Yes,” he gave her a thumbs up, “exactly that’s it.” A few seconds passed by between them and then his mother smiled.
“Okay, I’m glad you’re always so hard working with your schoolwork. Focus and drive those are your best traits and because of them, you’re always on time. And you know what I always tell you-”
“Punctuality is the key to success and success is the key to happiness,” uttered the siblings.
“I know, mother,” Angelo turned back to his desk and started working.
“Good,” the mom pointed to Clara, “and you, I expect you downstairs in five minutes okay, honey”
“Yes mom,” she groaned. With that, the powerful woman walked out and shut the door behind her. Finx crawled out.
“That was a close one,” sighed his sister, “why is it that mom can’t ever see Finx again?”
“Because she doesn’t believe,” the boy got back to putting the finishing touches on the second wing of the day, “she doesn’t believe in magic, only time and numbers so she can’t see something as amazing as him.” Finx cheers with a squeak as he lovingly leaned on the boy's arms.
“Oh, right,” she ruffled her clothes back into an organized fashion, “dad can’t see him either, huh?”
“Nope.”
“That’s so sad.”
“Yup, it’s their own faults though. Us though"- he turned and helped his sister look presentable, “have to always keep that magic inside us alive. Or else we are going to turn into punctuality obsessed adults. And we don’t want that right?” He smiled.
“Of course,” she caressed the dragon on her brother’s arm, “I want to remember Finx forever and ever, and tell my kids about him.” Angelo laughed and showed her out of the room.
“Exactly, now come on, go do what you usually do so that we don’t get in trouble.” Clara for once obeyed, hugged her brother, and skipped out joyously. Angelo concentrated on his task again and tied the leather to the base. After a couple minutes, he triumphantly lifted the wing. “This is it, little guy, let us hope 284th attempt is the last one.”
Angelo clicked the wing to the dragon and sat back. Finx, a little skeptical at first tried shifting his body slowly to avoid the mishap from earlier. Then the excitement got to him though and his cold blood pumped throughout the winged lizard’s body. Finx flapped his wings and roared as he lifted into the air. Angelo crossed his fingers tight as he observed everything and after watching his dragon float for 15 seconds punched the air.
“There we go, Finx! I told you we could get it!” The dragon purred in delight and flew around the room, taking down the hung blueprints as he went. With a final twist in the air, Finx settled back onto the desk, but couldn’t keep still. His feet marched all around ecstatically and Angelo laughed in success. Then, a gradual sadness sprouted onto the boy’s face. His smile diminished. The dragon felt the change in ambiance and also grew silent.
“It’s time for you to go…” Distraught, Angelo got up and walked to his window. The dragon followed with his powerful wings propelling him forward. He unhooked the hinges and allowed the window to open with a gust of the wind and a cold breeze brushed Angelo’s cheek. The dragon landed on his shoulder and put its face against the boy’s. Angelo could not hold the tears any longer and with a deep sigh, one rolled down the side of his cheek. The dragon wrapped its wings around the boy in gratitude for everything that he’s done. For the first time in Angelo’s life, he felt that time and punctuality did not exist. It wasn’t a constant construct that bound him to everyday life, but for the first time, everything mundane ceased to exist. It was only Angelo and Finx, looking into the blue night sky. Angelo’s grin came back again and he held the tiny creature in his palm.
“Alright Finx,” he wiped another tear, “thank you for helping me believe, little guy. You were always there and I hope that I was able to be as helpful to you. I love you, buddy.” The dragon sprang up into flight and flew in a circle around the intelligent kid’s head. Angelo laughed; it was the typical guffaw of a child who had no sadness in its trace. Only pure happiness. Finx messed with the boy’s hair and then jolted out of the window, nothing on its way back home. Angelo waved euphorically as he saw the small dragon disappear into the night sky. His teeth glimmered with the light of the moon and he continued to gaze upon the darkness. Who knows, maybe Finx is up there flying with the stars now.
Angelo let out a final smile and walked back to his room, to sleep and dream of more magical adventures that are yet to come. And that was all the happiness he needed.
