If. As in “what if?” Full of possibilities.
Will Scarlet. As in… well, once you’ve met him, you know. Likewise full of it.
And of possibilities, too.
“Har, har,” he’d say, if he were at my side. He’d also be standing in my wastebasket. Unless he were at my other side, in which case he’d be squashing my Bruno Bear. I’d rather he stand in the wastebasket.
Maybe he’d sit on the edge of my bed, up nearer my pillows*, off to my left.
(*But not on them, because I don’t deal well with people actually touching my pillows, especially with their backsides)
That would make sense: He’d be facing the mirror.
“It’s so much better, now you’ve got the mirror over here instead of in that corner,” he’d say, explosively. Most of how he talks is explosive. Exclamatory. Fireworks that explode into glowing exclamation points. “Really changes up the room. New clothing whatsit. System. We call it a system, right?”
“Right,” I’d agree.
“It’s best at night. I mean, not necessarily best, but the way the mirror catches the stars.”
He’d mean the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to my ceiling – as opposed to the stars on the dust cover my mom made for my aforementioned system. The dust cover stars are shades of blue on darker blue, reminiscent of a wizard’s robe. …Not the wizard robe that hangs from the system’s upper rack, which is gray with sky blue lining. A darker blue robe with stars, obviously.
“Y’know what’s gorgeous?” Will would say.
“You?” I’d hazard a guess.
He’d grin. “Yeah.”
And he wouldn’t be wrong.
Even so, he’d be bound to lose interest in his reflection eventually. The sound of my typing would snatch at his attention, and he’d lean over and crane around to get a look at my screen. It’s an awkward angle. He’d fall onto Bruno Bear, and Kibbitz (aka Kibbitzchen, aka Kibbitzi, aka my little fox), too.
I’d make a sound of protestation, rising in volume until he stopped squashing my stuff.
“Sorry, ugh, whatever, sorry,” he’d say – or something in that vein, plus the apology I’d make him give to my stuffed friends. “Can I see, though?”
My mouth set to “grumpy”, I’d turn the laptop around to face him.
“Scroll up a bit?” he’d request, since by now I’ve moved just far enough down from the top of the page that he can’t see it. Back at the top, he’d read aloud. “‘If Will Scarlet ’. Ha!” he’d blast, because any instance of his own name pleases him. He’d get to the part about possibilities. “Double the possibilities! Positive times positive equals a positive. Two wrongs never made a right. Double-A batteries, both with positives. One would go the other way, though, ‘cause circuits or something. Wait – positive plus positive. Triple plus? A double-positive. Is there such a thing as double-positive blood? What’s my blood type, do you think?”
Because that is how Will Scarlet’s brain works.
[To be continued…]