LII. Pillars

The little Martian takes a seat next to me, on this backless wooden bench.

“cold day “ he states, slipping around a safe, neutral topic.

He looks afraid to ask me what's happening.

He takes in my bright pink neon fleece, my perfectly combed hair, and the prawn salad placed prettily by my laptop.

“you look. Well. Under control.”

“ it is all under control,”

“And you? Are you well?”

“it's all under control”

The little Martian looks this way and that, plays with the hem of his sweater and clip-clops his tongue like a child caught in a situation he can't quite understand.

“It's okay. I'm fine really. “

The little Martian lets out a little breath and giggles softly, unsurely

“Okay, I'm sorry. I wasn’t sure how to go about this conversation. “

“It's okay. We don’t have to talk about anything” I tell the little Martian.

I am reassuring him while he is trying to reassure me, there is a whole lot of reassurance in the air today.

There is silence, a comfortable easy kind.

I break the soft lull.

“I'm scared, but I know we’ll be alright. “

The little Martian slides his eyes up to mine, they start welling up with chubby little tears, threatening to spill over like gumdrops

"I'm sorry," he says between sniffles, “I’m supposed to be your pillar to lean on, but I keep falling down”

I smile at the little Martian, take his hand in mine, and look at him, really look at him, seeing him for the first time since I saw him for the first time.

We’ve both changed so much.

“even pillars fall down in an earthquake. “

He snorts, sniffles, wheezes and hiccups.

My little Martian is a little mess today.

I hand him a tissue and let him pull himself together.

“We aren’t buildings, we aren't silent brooding walls or pillars of strength and perfection.”

The little Martian hiccups again. Loud and sparky like a toad in a goa monsoon.

“we’re people. And sometimes things get scary and we cry and we feel scared.” I exhale, as i utter the most basic truths of existence, feeling a sort of weight latch and lift off my chest with this simple admission.

The Little Martian looks at his hands, then back up at me

“I'm waiting for the optimistic punchline,” he says with a sardonic little chuckle

“Sometimes we feel crippled with fear. Sometimes we sit down and we are enveloped with a sense of dread and it feels too hard to get up. “

“mhmmm.” The Martian looks like he is about to initiate round two of the waterworks.

“but!”

I pause

He looks up

“but we get up anyway. “

“We get up anyway? “ The little Martian whispers back, eyes wide and swollen.

“We get up anyway.”