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Arlo accepts the water from me. "It's not a real apartment." He takes a sip of water and shakes his head. "It's a hostel arrangement. But yes, last night was much better. There were no gangsters outside my bedroom window firing bullets at each other, or whack jobs screaming bloody Mary."
It hits me hot and hard. The irritation that Arlo's living condition is even worse than I thought.
Gangs? Bullets? Whack jobs screaming? I can't believe my ears.
I turn to face Arlo and tilt his chin up. "You didn't tell me about the gang members last night, boy."
"That's what you get when you're poor. To visit the Little Bunny Club, I had to fight my way through a sea of heroin addicts peeing on my front steps. It's not the most pleasant living experience."
My eyes flit around my luxurious apartment. All at once, an immense wave of guilt washes over me. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Yes, I worked my ass off to increase my wealth, but my family gave me my start.
It was luck. Pure and simple. Even my crazy gains I made on highflying technology stocks this past year are due to the money I had to invest in previously.
That's how the elite structure our monetary system. The rich use their money to get richer and the poor can't get a leg up. It hurts to see someone so close to me suffering from income inequality.
"I'm sorry to hear that." I move Mr. Green off Arlo's chest, then smooth out his t-shirt. "That makes me more upset than you could ever know. I'll never let you live in that kind of squalor again."
Reluctantly, I remind myself that I pledged not to treat Arlo like a charity case. He's sensitive to people belittling him, and I must respect his wishes. He wants me to treat him like the smart boy he is, not someone who needs handouts.
"Hey, buddy." Arlo pretends to scowl at me as he sets his glass down. "I work for my money. I won't accept any handouts during these thirty days."
But something shifts in Arlo's eyes as he speaks these words. He casts his gorgeous eyes down, and rubs his fingers on the blanket.
All at once, I sense there's something Arlo isn't telling me… somethingmoreto this story. I wonder if it's about Arlo's employment problems he's facing. I remember he said his boss fired him from the candy store, and he didn't know how he'd pay rent. Or maybe his parents brought him up in a way that shamed accepting handouts from people. I'd understand that because my father was largely the same way.
Or maybe that's not the issue at all. Perhaps there's a secret Arlo hides, something dark and deep, so profound he can't even fathom telling me. Maybe he secretly does want a little assistance—who doesn't?—but he's too proud to admit it.
Arlo smiles at me. "Can I have my backpack, please?" He scrunches his face together. "There's something I need."
I nod. "Sure."
Reaching down, I pick up his backpack. It's a maroon, tattered thing, with a few patches with slogans about environmental activism. One of the patches saysSave our rivers and streamsand another has a picture of a forest.
My heart swells as I take these patches in. Arlo isn't only an adorable boy who plays with alien stuffies or believes in extraterrestrial life. He's a fighter. A boy who believes in making the world a better place.
It's a little naïve… after all, the world is dark and deadly—I'd know—but it's an adorable naïveté that warms my heart.
I hand my angel his backpack. "Here."
Arlo accepts the backpack, and unzips the front pocket. "I have something to show you."
He reaches inside, and pulls out a little notebook. He zips up the pocket, and tosses his backpack to the far end of the sofa.
I squint at the notebook, trying to make out what it is. Unintelligible symbols line the front, and I can't help but wonder if this has to do with Arlo's alien obsession.
"What is this, boy?"
Arlo's blue eyes flash with life. "It's my Little journal, Daddy." He places his hand on the cover. "I write down the Little activities I do every single day. I keep track so I can remind myself to always try new things."
He sets the notebook on my lap, then opens it to a random page. "Read this."
I squint and make out the words on the lined page. In a journal entry for September, I read:
Today, I went to the zoo all by myself! I looked at the big gorillas and showed them Mr. Green. The biggest gorilla brought his kid over to see. The kid squealed and danced when he saw my stuffy, and he tried to pet it through the glass. I felt so little and happy. I let out a laugh and pretended like I was a gorilla, too, and that this lovely family of primates adopted me. But when I tried to hand the little gorilla my stuffy, the glass prevented me. I got so sad I burst into tears. Maybe one day, I'll have a strong Daddy in my life who can get some nice stuffies for the gorillas. They clearly enjoy them, but I never see the zoo owners give them stuffed animals to play with. It'd warm my heart so much to see them play with alien stuffies and have something fun to do! I hate seeing animals in captivity :(
I can barely believe my eyes as I read this journal entry. I hold Arlo's hand.
"Sweet boy." I keep my voice low and calm. "This is the nicest diary entry I've ever seen. You're so cute."
