When Bonnie was three, she hated going to her grandparents’. Not that she disliked her grandparents, who, Monday to Friday, at 4pm, would pick her up from her daycare a few blocks away from their apartment. It was her evil five-year-old cousin, Josh, who was pale as a ghost but liked to pretend that he was a pirate. He didn’t have to go to school, and could roam freely doing whatever he wanted.

She once asked her grandma, while her grandpa was talking to the ice cream man for her ice cream sandwich, “Why can Josh get everything he wants?” Every time Bonnie and Josh wanted the same thing - the same colored crayon, the same piece of fish, the same candy, the same toy… - grandpa and grandma would pronounce Josh the possessor of the thing.

“Josh is special, sweetheart,” grandma said, “just let him have his way”. Bonnie pouted in protest; she was special too no? Grandpa handed Bonnie the ice cream sandwich, and the Josh matter was forgotten amidst the sweet crunchiness until the next unfair contest.

When Bonnie was four, she started learning the violin. Grandpa had set up a violin corner in the living room, by the thick canary yellow curtains. Everyday from 4:30pm to 5pm, and from 5:30 to 6pm, serious squeaking and coughing of the violin could be heard. Grandma would read the newspaper behind her sharp-angled glasses, grandpa would lean over the fish tank feeding the four palm-sized gold (actually maroon) fish.

“My poor ears,” Josh would add a line as he trot about the living room with his pirate attire, flying robots and saving the world. Sometimes he would hide behind the curtain and poke Bonnie. Bonnie looked forward to 7pm, when the bell rings and Mom would pick her up after work.

When Bonnie was five, she demonstrated to grandpa, grandma, and Josh on the kitchen table how to play Slap Jack, the most popular game at her kindergarten (the lucky Josh still didn’t have to go to school). You slap the card when the number you call out appears on the card or when a Jack appears, Bonnie explained. And you slap like this, Bonnie showcased a thundering bang on the table. Grandpa freaked out, and said Josh wasn’t allowed to play this game because his ivy insert would break. Bonnie scrutinized Josh’s hands, each wrapped up with white bands that had little pirate stickers on them. There’s ivy underneath?

Josh can play, grandma smiled, handing each person a napkin. The game is now Drop Jack, Grandma explained; instead of slapping, you drop the napkin.

When Bonnie was six, she gave her first public violin solo at her elementary school’s annual talent show. She bowed amidst seas of clapping. Josh was the flower person. He walked up the stage in suit and tie, hair gelled into a sharp spike, holding a batch of flowers the size of his torso. His hands were still covered to protect those all-important ivy things. He stood directly in front of her and bowed, lifting the flowers up towards her with all his might. Though older, Josh was now only up to Bonnie’s shoulders. Dangling down his bony figure was a really puffy belly. It took grandma forever to find a suit that fit him.

Bonnie gracefully held the violin and bow with one hand, and took the flowers with the other. Something in the flowers made her sneeze hard, blowing all the little white flowers onto the stage and the kids sitting in the front row.

Back at her grandparents’, Bonnie sat cross-legged in grandma’s burgundy arm chair, torrents of tears soaking Kleenex after Kleenex. Josh’s pale bony face poked out of the lego corner. “Stop crying,” he gently demanded. “You are not pretty when you cry,” Josh added, quietly but forcefully.

Bonnie blew her nose and dried her eyes - she didn’t want to look ugly.

After a moment of analyzing the logic of Josh’s words, Bonnie asked, “So I’m pretty when I’m not crying?” A few teardrops were still dangling down her long curly eye lashes.

“Maybe,” Josh continued building his lego ship. That was comforting. Bonnie ran over to the lego corner and gave her skinny little cousin a bear hug.

That year, Josh’s birthday party was held at a city hospital a few hours away from their town. His room was stuffed with people. His favorite robot, Rex, stood silently by his pillow. Various tubes and lines went in and out of his wan little body. Machines that were much bigger than he was buzzed and hummed around him. His hands were no longer wrapped up by bands with pirate stickers on them. Instead, tubes went from his hands to bottles that hung up side down above his bed. That was the ivy thing? Bonnie hated the ivy thing.

Josh’s Mom placed on his bedside table a picture-book-sized tiramisu with eight candles, each featuring a fake red twinkling flame. It was Josh’s favourite cake.

“What’s your wish?” Grandpa asked.

Josh closed his eyes and thought for a bit. “I want to fly around the world in a hot air balloon”.

Grandpa nodded, “I will get you on a hot air balloon.”

Bonnie had wanted to go on a hot balloon too.

“Can Bonnie come as well?” Josh asked. The setting sun peeked through the window, spilling its last rays.

“Yes, Bonnie can come as well.” Grandpa stroked Josh’s little head with his big rough hand. He turned his head towards the blank hospital wall for a moment. In the dim light, Bonnie saw that tears were welling up Grandpa’s eyes, dripping and disappearing into his pepper and salt beard. Then the air was filled with the quiet sobbing of all the adults and little kids in the room. Well, all except Bonnie and Josh. They grinned at each other cherishing the secret they had shared. Bonnie helped Josh plump his pillow, leaning Rex against his shoulders. Josh’s smile was sunshine.

When Bonnie was seven, she hated going to her grandparents’. The apartment was the same, the violin corner the lego pirate ship the dangly curtains the Drop Jack table the robots who were supposed to save the world. It was missing Josh, Josh’s pirate hairdo, Josh’s teasing, Josh’s unreasonableness, Josh. Bonnie quickly dried the teardrop that dangled down from her eyelashes.

[short short story]