Mama

Written May 1997

It reappeared outside, on the top of the box. "Mama," it thought, looking around with blurred hatchling eyes. Taking a tentavie step forward, it hopped off the box, flapping feebly about on its wobbly pair of wings. It floundered for awhile, then swooped through the halls gleefully, weaving through a maze of corridors and somehow ending up in the museum's cafe, where it happily munched on a few leftover sandwich bits. Discovering the soda machine with a delighted meep, it played and finally quenched its thirst. Full to capacity, it climbed through a gap in the ceiling tiles and fell into a deep sleep, thinking as it drifted off, "Mama."

It was startled awake by a dull roar and the clattering of dishes beneath it. Instantly, it thought, "Mama?" It peered through the hole in the ceiling tiles, amazed at the number of humans that were now meandering about the cafe, eating and conversing. With a clear-eyed blink, it spotted a girl of college age, a backpack slung over one of her shoulders. Curious, it darted down and through the open flap of her pack, and curled up cozily on her books. It positioned its head so that it could peer outside as it sat there and watched as she strolled the museum, stopping and examining the dinosaur eggs with a dreamy look in her eyes, as if turning over an idea in her head. Then she turned on her heel and left the museum, carrying the little one with her unknowingly.

When she reached her dormitory, pausing to unlock the front door, it hopped out on the grass, scuttling to hide under the bushes that guarded the ground floor windows. Meeping, it romped about, batting at dandilions and small bugs in play. People walking by muttered, "Damn cat," but the little one didn't care. it was having fun. Finding a McDonalds bag containing leftovers was a rare treat, as was discovering a discarded Coke bottle, still half full. Its belly full once more, it fell asleep in a boneless heap, dreaming of its mother.

A cold rain thapthapping down caused it to wake, water dribbling down it in torrents. Shivering, it hid under a large dandilion leaf, blinking up at a giant figure as it loomed over it. "Mama?" it thought, quaking with cold and unknowing. The cat yowled as it passed by, eager to get out of the rain. Alone once more, it returned to a death-like sleep.

It was late in the day when it woke again, its little golden eyes as dull and lifeless as its scales. Then, spotting the same college girl, it leapt back into her bag, letting her take it where ever she was headed. When it peeked out again, it was surrounded by shelves and desks, computers and thousands of books flowing out of the shelves. The girl headed back to a lone back room and opened a dusty volume whose mass covered much of the table it lay upon.

It hopped out again, unnoticed by the girl, and set about exploring the room. Sniffing the shelves, it found another book, sitting on it and thinking morosely, "Mama." Again it slept, weary, for no such little one was ever meant to use up so much energy in its first few days of life. It awoke later to the sound of a door being locked and flapped, exhausted, to the table and book over which the girl had sat, the book still yawning open. Blinking tiredly down at the pages it sat on, it gave a startled meep, for on that page was a painted a laire of the most peaceful dragons, their rainbow brilliance inspiring even the most dumb. "Mama!" it thought, and touched one of the dragons in the painting. Then, unable to keep its tiny lids open any longer, it was consumed by the blackness within. Then, out of the dark, two wings reached down and wrapped around it soothingly and comfortingly. "Mama", it thought happily and was home.

In the room, the little one gradually vanished into a cloud of stars, which gradually dissolved. And in the painting, tucked under the benevolent wing of a twinkling gold dragon, a small hatchling appeared, it's golden eyes twinkling up at its mother in joy.

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