A Boy and His Dragon

by Michael J. Bowler

  He displayed the small, colorfully, if somewhat haphazardly, wrapped shoebox, and the dragon’s vermeil eyes blazed bright with curiosity. Whilly lumbered forward and sat before the excited child, gently taking the box from his outstretched hands.

  What is it? he asked quizzically.

  “Well open it and find out, silly,” the boy chirped with delight, his face alive with amusement.

  With a dexterousness belying his great bulk, Whilly carefully tore away the wrapping and blinked at the Puma tennis shoe box underneath. You got me a pair of shoes? He was thoroughly bewildered.

  Bradley Wallace threw back his head and laughed, a beautiful, enchantingly innocent laugh. “I knew you’d fall for it,” he giggled, laughing again at the dragon’s bemused expression. Dragons really had expressive faces, he’d noted on many an occasion, and could look very funny sometimes.

  “I just used an old box, Whilly,” he explained. “There aren’t really shoes in there. Open it and see.”

  Hesitantly, like a kid expecting a spring snake to leap out at him, Whilly eyed the boy suspiciously as he eased the cover off the box. He knew only too well Bradley Wallace’s mischievous nature, and he didn’t wish to be made a fool of. The interior of the box was filled with crumpled wads of toilet paper. He stared at this in confusion.

  Toilet paper?

  Bradley Wallace shook his head in exasperation. “Don’t you know anything about unwrapping presents? You have to look underneath the toilet paper.”

  Oh, the dragon replied as he began sifting through the balled up paper. He finally pulled out the only other thing in the box - a piece of folded binder paper.

  “It’s a note,” the excited boy told him quickly. “You know how to read.”

  Dropping the empty box to the ground by his taloned feet, Whilly looked into the boy’s smiling eyes before holding out the sheet of paper and glancing down at the words scrawled helter-skelter across its face. It suddenly occurred to both of them that while Whilly could read, because Bradley Wallace could, the dragon had never actually attempted it himself. This was a first. But the message was simple, and Whilly had no trouble understanding it.

  Merry Christmas, Whilly. Because you’re my best friend in the whole world, I want to give you something special. So I’m giving you Josette’s music box to keep for your very own. I know you already love it as much as I do. Your friend, Bradley Wallace Murphy.

  The dragon looked up from the note into the boy’s smiling face, and felt an uncharacteristic stirring deep within him. It was almost like hunger, but he wasn’t hungry. It was strange, but not at all bad. And it was because of Bradley Wallace, not just giving him the music box, but everything. He felt genuinely confused and uncertain, highly undragonlike sensations. But it means so much to you, Whilly protested hesitantly.

  “That’s why I want you to have it,” the boy explained, pleased at the reaction his gift generated in his usually stoic friend, but more than a little confused by his own emotional surges. He wanted to throw his arms around the dragon’s scaly neck and say “I love you,” but something held him back. He never had actually said those words to Whilly, not out loud. But surely the dragon was aware how he felt, and didn’t really like big emotional outbursts anyway. So he just stood where he was and said nothing.

  Thank you, was all Whilly seemed able to say, and a long,

  uncertain pause hung in the air between them like one of the waiting storm clouds above, thick and foreboding. Suddenly Whilly noticed the shaving nicks on Bradley Wallace’s face. There is blood on your face, he commented evenly, as though grateful for the subject change.

  Instantly embarrassed, and hearing his father’s words echoing through his head, Bradley Wallace reluctantly admitted that he’d cut himself shaving.

  Had he been less disturbed by his growing pains, he might have realized that Whilly should have known about the shaving incident already. But Whilly had been busy at the time, and didn’t know. And Bradley Wallace didn’t think to ask why.

  Much later, he’d wish he had.

  Does this mean you’re growing up, too? Whilly asked, sensing the boy’s thoughts and feelings.

  Bradley Wallace looked up sharply into those twirling red eyes and scaly features, suddenly realizing that Whilly’s snout had gotten much longer and narrower than he remembered it being. And the eyes, they reflected back a keen intelligence that was a far cry from the whining hatchling he’d stumbled upon so many months ago.

  “Let’s go flying,” he said longingly, almost desperately, ignoring the dragon’s question deliberately. “Let’s go flying and never stop,” he went on, “Forever and ever.” Without awaiting an answer, he climbed hurriedly atop Whilly’s back, purposely not noticing the fact that he had to scramble much harder to get up, because Whilly was that much taller. But the boy didn’t want to notice things like that. He just wanted to fly.

  And fly they did, higher and farther than they had since the summer, neither speaking nor sharing conscious thoughts. Both were lost in their individual musings, ignoring all the problems of the world. From up there, nothing seemed important except being. All problems seemed tiny and insignificant and solvable. Even the problem of growing up.

  When Bradley Wallace entered the kitchen, Katie immediately pounced on him for running off and leaving her “to do everything!” But his mother was too distracted to pay much attention, and Bradley Wallace cast a smirk in his sister’s direction before going back to his room.

  When the cousins arrived (his Aunt Anne and Uncle Joshua and five girls), everyone commented on Bradley Wallace’s shaving injuries, and he turned red with embarrassment each time. He just wished they’d all forget about it like he wanted to. The dinner was good (main course, ham), and all seemed filled with good cheer.

  After the pumpkin pie, both families sat down in the family room to watch the movie “White Christmas” on TV, during which his uncle fell asleep and snored so loudly that he had to be kicked several times by Aunt Anne or one of the girls.

  Bradley Wallace had never liked musicals much, that one included. But this year, for some inexplicable reason, the movie seemed better, funnier and more enjoyable. It was still too mushy, though. All in all, the evening was very nice. But he still felt heavy-hearted and gloomy, and wished he could spend this time with Whilly, who really understood and appreciated him. He couldn’t fault the dragon for not loving him because it wasn’t in Whilly’s nature to love. And yet he felt closer to that lone dragon than to any of these people with whom he’d spent his entire life. That just didn’t seem quite right somehow.

  And then suddenly and sadly, Christmas was gone, departing with his cousins and the final burning of discarded wrapping paper in the fireplace. As Bradley Wallace slipped between the cold sheets that night, wearing his new pajamas, of course, he lamented the loss of peace on earth and good will toward men, and maybe Peter Pan as well. A deep sense of desolation engulfed him and he drifted into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

  Two events occurred during the next week that would drastically alter the boy’s future and that of his dragon-friend. The first was Whilly’s increasing restlessness, his expressed desire to do what dragons should do - save damsels in distress, destroy pirates, stuff like in the song, “Puff, the Magic Dragon.” He needed to do something, he told Bradley Wallace one day, like when they were in Hawaii. He just couldn’t sit around and get fat. Bradley Wallace had never seen Whilly so agitated, and desperately wracked his brain for a solution to his latest dilemma before the dragon flew off somewhere and got into trouble. The boy didn’t understand Whilly’s sudden, intense yearning. He could feel it when he consciously allowed himself to, and the sensation was tingly and uncomfortable, sort of like how he felt around Janet these days, when they’d be close together and she’d be complimenting him or something. What he did know for sure was that he had to come up with an answer, and fast.

  And then one afternoon, seeking to distract himself by watching an old movie on TV, Bradley Wallace
found his answer. The movie was “The Scarlet Pimpernel,” and it gave him a fantastic idea. The story involved some English guy named Sir Percy Blakeney who, through the use of clever disguises and extreme bravery, managed to save many French nobles from the guillotine during the French Revolution. Blakeney was never identified as the Pimpernel because he was so clever. But he always left behind at the scene of each rescue a small symbol, a tiny flower called a scarlet pimpernel. Bradley Wallace sat enraptured throughout the movie, spinning his own scheme while watching those of Percy Blakeney.

  The movie was like a travelogue of his wildest fantasies - to be brave and true and clever and famous for doing good deeds, to experience excitement and adventure at every turn, to be a hero. And Whilly wanted excitement, too, didn’t he? Suppose, just suppose that it were possible to fulfill both needs at once. Why couldn’t Bradley Wallace become some kind of superhero guy with Whilly as his invisible partner? They could help lots of people, and find plenty of adventure, too. Whilly couldn’t possibly be bored doing all that, could he? It would be just like in Hawaii. In all truth, Bradley Wallace missed those days, even though they’d been dangerous and almost cost him his life. He had at least been living then, not stagnating. He and Whilly could do so much good, what with the dragon’s magic powers and all, and he felt certain they could figure a way to remain anonymous. Whilly would stay invisible, naturally, and he himself could wear some kind of costume. In fact, he could be just like Percy Blakeney. He could be his own “Scarlet Pimpernel.”

  Whilly instantly agreed to the boy’s rather haphazardly formed plan, so desperate was he to get out of his tank and do something.

  But as Bradley Wallace chattered on about how they would do this and that, logic returned to the dragon’s thinking processes, and he detected problems the boy had seemingly overlooked.

  Even with me invisible and you wearing a mask over your eyes, we would still be noticed. And it will be obvious that you’re just a boy. Eventually people might track you down, and find me.

  Bradley Wallace bit his lower lip thoughtfully. He had to confess that his plan had many more snags in it than he’d originally considered, but those could be ironed out. Couldn’t they? But how? Whilly was right. He would be more noticeable for his age than anything else, and there was no way he could disguise that completely. Damn! He cursed himself for raising Whilly’s hopes without thinking everything through first. Wouldn’t he ever start thinking before acting, he wondered despondently as he saw the disappointment in the dragon’s eyes.

  It was a good idea, Bradley Wallace, Whilly told him comfortingly, I thank you for trying.

  “I’m sorry, Whilly.” He felt like a real jerk. “Why don’t we go flying? Maybe I’ll think of something up there.”

  Okay. The dragon lowered himself to the ground so Bradley Wallace could climb up onto his back more easily. Once the boy was settled in, Whilly launched himself powerfully into the air, anxious to just soar around and expend some of his inexplicable energy. The duo whizzed past randomly strewn grey clouds, dodging them just for the fun of it.

  As they glided through the wintry sky, Bradley Wallace turned over and over in his mind the holes Whilly had spotted in his “brilliant plan.” Of paramount importance in the whole deal was remaining anonymous, and that seemed to be the main hitch. They couldn’t risk being discovered or they’d lose each other for sure.

  He wished he had the Scarlet Pimpernel’s keen intelligence and scheming mind. Percy Blakeney would find a way around this problem, he felt certain. But he couldn’t, not a dumb kid like him.

  You’re much smarter than you think, Whilly told him as he banked a wide, lazy turn and winged out over the aging Victorian houses of old San Rafael.

  Yeah, just brilliant! the disgusted boy transmitted in reply. He settled into a silent brooding as he stared unseeingly down at the quiet, tree-lined streets below. They passed over the ivy covered Dominican Convent, where all the nuns from school resided, and then sailed past the park-like Forest Meadows where Bradley Wallace used to attend CYO camp as a child.

  And then suddenly, quite without warning, that subconscious tingling at the back of his mind went off like an alarm clock, and the tiny voice directed his attention to one particular house set on a large lot apart from the others on the block. It was an aging, but well-kept two-story Victorian manse with several shuttered gables and one enormous black brick chimney, with a tiny picket fence lining its front walkway. The boy’s eyes saw nothing unusual about the house; all seemed normal. But his mind saw beyond the normal, beyond the walls themselves, saw . . . fire!

  “Whilly!” he shouted aloud, gesticulating wildly toward the house. “That house down there is on fire!”

  The dragon’s powerful eyes probed the house and its surrounding area carefully. I don’t see any smoke or flame, he commented dubiously.

  “I’m telling you it’s on fire!” the boy insisted, the crackling of flames roaring through his mind as though he himself was in the midst of a vast conflagration. “And there’s somebody trapped in there.” How did he know that?

  Hold on. With that, the dragon, folded his leathery wings against his sides and dove toward the house, nearly dislodging Bradley Wallace in the process.

  As they drew near to the front yard, Whilly made himself invisible, just in case anyone happened past the house, which was reasonably isolated from its neighbors.

  He alighted on the large expanse of lawn, and Bradley Wallace jumped down to the bright green grass. He briefly noticed the lush, colorful flower gardens and faded brown paint peeling off the exterior of the house in huge sheets, yet still detected no visible signs of fire.

  It was there, he assured the skeptical dragon. And there was someone inside. He leapt up to the porch and pounded repeatedly on the thick wooden door.

  “Hello!” he called out. “Can you hear me?” The silence seemed to be laughing at him as he pressed his ear up to the hardwood door and listened intently. Within, almost an echo of the crackling in his head, he could barely hear the fire. He was right! Thinking only of the person

  inside, Bradley Wallace stepped away from the door and glanced desperately around him for something to break in with. But there was nothing, dammit! His wildly searching eyes settled on the door again, and his mind seemed to explode in a roaring cacophony. His eyes flashed a vermeil radiance, and the door imploded with such force that the entire structure shook to its very foundations. But the boy remained unaffected, in fact, didn’t even notice. Inside the house, a raging inferno crackled like lightning, and thick swirling smoke spilled out the battered doorframe into the cool afternoon breeze. Without a moment’s hesitation, Bradley Wallace dashed into the house, and vanished behind a wall of grey smoke.

  Bradley Wallace! Whilly called out anxiously, unable to fit through the narrow doorway to follow, Come back! But the boy either didn’t hear him, or ignored him. Reaching out telepathically, Whilly fought to gain access to Bradley Wallace’s mind, and vision.

  But whenever the power took control of the boy’s undisciplined mind, as it had now, the dragon’s mental link was severely curtailed. For perhaps the first time in his life thus far, Whilly felt helpless. And he didn’t like that feeling.

  Although he didn’t know how, Bradley Wallace knew precisely which bedroom upstairs contained the sole occupant (how did he know that, anyway?). He passed through the flames, which licked at his hands and feet, completely unscathed and hurried to the burning staircase. Even his clothes remained unsinged, and he could actually see through the smoke! His eyes didn’t water and his lungs didn’t sear. It was like being in a dream. Like being Superman.

  Taking the blackened stairs three at a time, Bradley Wallace turned down a long, smoke filled hallway past a number of closed doors before stopping at the one he knew to be occupied.

  He yanked open the door and plunged into more smoke and flame, which almost seemed to part before him (like the Red Sea?), providing a clear path to the closed window across the length of
the room. A quick glance, a flash of vermeil, and the glass exploded outward in a million tiny shards. The thick, suffocating smoke immediately began pouring through the opening as though desperate to get out into the fresh air. Bradley Wallace turned to the bed.

  An elderly woman lay sprawled on the large four-poster fully clothed, as though she’d been taking a nap when the smoke overcame her. The huge wooden canopy above her was engulfed in flames, and Bradley Wallace could hear the wood groaning with pain. He saw it fall in his mind seconds before it actually did, and scooped the woman into his arms just in time. The canopy crashed onto the bed in a shower of sparks and shattered wood.

  The white-haired old lady, who vaguely reminded him of the grandmother who’d died when he was four, felt almost feather-light in his arms, a frail, fragile figure, and he carried her from the room with great gentleness, fearing she might break like delicate crystal.

  When he reached the head of the stairs, Bradley Wallace stopped and hesitated. The lower-most steps were a wall of flame, and already so eaten away as to be impassable. He didn’t fear for himself so much as the old woman in his arms. He could easily leap unharmed from the landing where he now stood all the way to the entry hall floor (he could?), right over the hungry flames, but the woman was too frail for such a maneuver. As he desperately contemplated alternate plans, a solid blast of frosty air suddenly burst through the shattered front door frame and instantly froze everything in its path, including the fire on the stairs. The flames died instantly, becoming tiny, harmless tendrils of smoke rising from the charred and pitted steps. Bradley Wallace thought a quick thank you to the invisible dragon outside and hurried down the stairs, jumping lightly over the bottom three, which looked highly unstable. The woman still hadn’t moved or shown any signs of life, and Bradley Wallace began to feel he might have been too late. He dashed through the ice chamber that moments before had been a burning foyer and out onto the front porch. The entire rescue had taken mere seconds.