THE NAMING OF THINGS

by Meredith Simmons
      Tommy Poole was very bright. He knew he was because people were always saying "Tommy's very bright" to his mother. Tommy also knew that the sun was bright, that newly shined copper was bright, and that the red on Daddy's car was bright. He had spent hours looking at his own chubby legs and studying his own pudgy hands, but no matter how he turned them in the light, he couldn't see how, in any way, they were like the sun or copper or Daddy's car.
      Tommy understood that the confusion about being bright had something to do with the naming of things. Tommy spent nearly all his time naming things. At day care he learned to name the colors and name the letters and name the numbers. He knew that in naming these things he made them real. Oh, they were always there, but they weren't real until they had the exact right name. Black was not brown, even if they looked a lot alike.
      Tommy also knew that sometimes the same thing had different names. For instance, he was Tommy, but he was also Tommy Poole, and sometimes son, and frequently you-rascal. Just as his mother was at various times Mother, Mama, Karen, Karen Poole, and Love, although only Rusty called her that. Rusty was just, well, Rusty. He was definitely not Daddy, who was another person altogether. Daddy was big with broad hands and he liked to play games, while Rusty was thin with glasses and he liked to explain things. Sometimes people thought Rusty was Daddy and this was a confusion with names that made Tommy angry. No matter what, Daddy would always be Daddy. He'd promised. Daddy came to visit every so often and then he would throw Tommy up in the air and tickle him a lot. And Daddy always brought toys, mostly trucks. Tommy had a whole collection of trucks.
      But the trucks didn't have special names, not like Mama or Daddy or even Rusty. The trucks were real, but just in a general way, interchangeable, like most of the people who floated through his life. Only one of his toys had a special name, and that was Pooba, his bear. Mama had read him the story about the Pooh Bear that belonged to another little boy, but Tommy could tell from the pictures that it wasn't the same bear, even if Mama wanted to call Pooba just Pooh. Tommy knew he had the right name, because Pooba had told him so. The right name had made him real.
      Pooba always went to bed with Tommy and whispered in Tommy's ear that he would keep watch during the long night. Pooba had had this job since Daddy left. And Tommy could sleep soundly, since Pooba was guarding him from the shadows that rubbed up against his windows like stray cats and from the dark that crept from under his closet door when everyone had gone to bed.
      In the morning, Tommy was awake and ready to play, but Pooba was tired from his long vigil, so Pooba got to stay on Tommy's big-boy bed and sleep all the day through. Daddy had said that Pooba was looking pretty ratty and had brought Tommy another bear, this one bigger and harder and brown. But Tommy had put the new bear on the shelf and hadn't named him, so the new bear hadn't become real.
      Tommy didn't think Pooba was ratty, he just looked a little old from all the guarding that he did. His ears were still held erect to catch the slightest sound in the night; his eyes were still black and shiny as they watched for sneaky shadows. His color was somewhere between green and blue, and perhaps it had faded some over time, but Tommy couldn't see that this hurt Pooba in the least. Pooba did have a dark spot on the side of his face, but that was just from the wet, for water leaked from Tommy's mouth every night as he slept with his head resting on Pooba's soft body. But Pooba said this was a badge of honor and proved he kept watch through the darkness of the night.
      Because Tommy was very bright, he was sometimes a rascal. Rusty spent hours explaining to Mama how a bright child would push his limits. He also spent hours explaining to Tommy how it was OK to be a rascal, but that it wasn't OK to disobey, since the rules that were set down were there to protect Tommy. Tommy wanted to tell Rusty that it was Pooba and not rules that protected him, but Rusty didn't like it when the "explaining" came from the other direction.
      So one evening, Tommy thought he was being a rascal when he discovered the joys of putting the funny plug on the living room lamp in and out of the two little holes in the wall where the plug usually rested. He had just leaned over to see if he could see where the light was coming from when Mama suddenly snatched him away from the holes and hit him hard across the hands. Tommy was shocked. Mama never hit him. And then she yelled at him about how the light could hurt him and that he was never ever to poke at the holes in the wall. Tommy started to cry, mostly because Mama was shouting at him and he didn't understand, but this just seemed to make Mama madder and she carried him to his room and told him to stay there until he could learn to behave. Then she stamped away down the hall. All Tommy could think to do was to keep on crying, so he snuggled close to Pooba and made the bear's wet spot even bigger.
      A few minutes later, Rusty came into his room and sat down on the side of his big-boy bed. Rusty explained that Mama was upset because she was afraid that Tommy would get hurt. He explained that there was someone named Elec Trissidy who lived in the walls of their house and who could come out of the little holes and bite Tommy if he wasn't careful.
      Tommy eyed all the little holes which were neatly arranged around his room, but Rusty assured him that Elec Trissidy wouldn't come out of the holes unless he was disturbed. Then he ruffled Tommy's hair and asked him if he'd like to go see where a spider was building the most beautiful web. Tommy knew that Rusty was just wanting to explain all about spiders again, but he got up and went to look at the spider web anyway.
      That night, when the house got all quiet and the cat-shadows were rubbing on his window pane, Tommy had a long talk with Pooba about the Trissidy monster that lived in their walls. Tommy wanted to make sure that Pooba would keep an especially close watch on the little holes, for now that Trissidy had a name, Tommy was afraid that he would be real. Pooba promised to be extra careful, but Tommy couldn't seem to get to sleep.
      Tommy rolled around in his bed for the longest stretch of time, listening to funny sounds from inside the walls, sounds he'd never noticed before. He now knew they were the scratching sounds of the Trissidy monster trying to get out. Then Tommy saw a small flicker of light come through one of the little holes on the far side of the room. It was just a little pin-prick of light, but it moved as if it were looking for him. Tommy nudged Pooba to make sure he was on guard, but Pooba merely said, "It's OK. It's OK."
      But Tommy knew it wasn't OK. He knew that by naming the monster that lived in the walls, Rusty had made him real, and that the Trissidy monster was looking for Tommy to take a big bite.
      The beam of light jerked toward him and Tommy let out the loudest scream he could. And he kept screaming and screaming.
      The hall light winked on, its bright shine banishing the Trissidy monster back into its hole. Rusty walked into the room, sat on the side of the big-boy bed and gathered Tommy in his arms.
      "Hey, what's the problem?" he asked. His voice was smooth and sure, just like it sounded when he was explaining something.
      The whole story came tumbling out. Tommy told Rusty all about the Trissidy monster and how giving him a name had made him real and how the monster had tried to get out of the wall to bite Tommy and how Pooba had let him down by not guarding him better. And then Tommy just ran out of words and snuffled against Rusty's thin chest, making a wet spot like the one on Pooba.
      Rusty picked Tommy up and started moving toward the door, but he returned to scoop up Pooba. "Can't forget our night guard," he said. He carried Tommy and Pooba down the hall and into the room he shared with Mama. Rusty placed Tommy in the middle of the great big bed and got in next to him.
      "Whaa?" Mama made a sleepy question sound. Then she said more distinctly, "You said we should never let him sleep in our bed."
      "Yeah," muttered Rusty, "but this is my fault. My explanation of electricity gave him nightmares. He's so bright sometimes it's hard to remember there're a lot of things he just can't understand."
      Rusty pulled the sheet up under Tommy's chin and gently kissed him on the forehead. Tommy felt totally safe tucked in between Mama's round bulk and the boniness of Rusty. He knew the Trissidy monster would never be able to get him there. He silently told Pooba that there was no need for him to watch the rest of the night and slipped into sleep without even noticing.

      The next evening when Mama brought Tommy home from day care, Rusty was already in the house, crawling around on his hands and knees. Rusty went from one set of little holes to the next, filing each vacant spot with a two-pronged disk. "Got these at the hardware store," he said. "Should have had them all the time. Guess I'm not up much on child stuff."
      Then he looked at Tommy and said, "This'll keep any monsters you imagine where they belong."
      Tommy didn't feel too sure about that. The disks looked pretty puny, especially considering they were up against something as powerful as the Trissidy monster.
      Later that night when Mama tucked him in bed, she pointed to all the disks that Rusty had put around his room and told him again that he'd be safe. "There's no need to be afraid now," she said. "You're a big boy and don't need to creep into our bed again. Pooh is here with you." And she gave Pooba a little shake.
      Tommy thought he should help Pooba keep watch, and he did so for the longest time, eyes flicking from one set of disks to the next. But when the house drifted into silence and nothing unusual happened, his eyes slowly closed. It seemed safe to let Pooba do the guarding.
      There must have been a sound. Tommy was suddenly wide awake. His room was darker than usual. He couldn't even make out any shadows on the window. The dark seemed to be pressing down. And then he heard it, the noise that had awakened him, a thin scratching sound. The Trissidy monster.
      Tommy looked at Pooba to see if he was guarding. Pooba's sharp pointed ears were swiveled toward one of the disks. His shiny eyes were fixed on the same spot. Pooba had heard the noise too.
      "The Trissidy monster," breathed Tommy. Pooba nodded, but didn't take his eyes from the disk on the far wall. Then Tommy saw what Pooba was watching so intently. Even in the heavy darkness, Tommy could see that the disk was moving out, ever so slowly, ever so silently. But moving.
      A tiny finger of blue-white probed along the edge of the disk. The finger of light grew larger as the disk slipped to the floor. The light made a crackling sound like a squished up Wal-mart bag and started licking its way up the wall. The light slithered over the top of Tommy's toy box and moved toward the bed. The light split into two parts and Tommy saw the gaping fangs of the Trissidy monster. The fangs were bright and Tommy knew they were coming for him. That's what people had always meant when they'd said he was a bright boy. They'd known that this would someday happen.
      A deep growl sounded in Tommy's ear and Pooba moved to stand on Tommy's chest. It was the first time Tommy had ever seen Pooba move all by himself. And he had never before heard the sound that was coming from the little bear. Pooba's blue-green fur stood erect all along his back. His normally smiling mouth was pulled apart to reveal a row of teeth.
      The Trissidy monster suddenly darted across the room, straight for Tommy. Pooba hurled himself from Tommy's chest and met the monster in mid-air. The growling and snapping became louder. Tommy could see the Trissidy monster try to sink its fangs into Pooba's back. Pooba was too small. He needed help.
      "Teddy. Paddy. Boo." Tommy yelled at the bigger, stronger brown bear that rested on the shelf. If he could find the right name, the bigger bear would become real, but none of the names Tommy called seemed to be right. The brown bear just sat there grinning while the ferocious fight continued on the floor.
      Blue-green and blue-white rolled together in a blur. Fangs snapped. Little bear teeth clicked. Then Pooba got a hold of the Trissidy monster. It twisted and crackled in his mouth, but could not break the grip of Pooba's little jaws. The Trissidy monster was growing dimmer. Pooba was winning. And then the Trissidy monster gave one last lunge and sank its fangs into the bear's back. Pooba jumped in pain, but he would not let go.
      The light of the monster grew even dimmer, but Pooba's growls were also growing weaker. Tommy was now standing up in his bed. He needed to go help Pooba, but he was as frozen as the brown bear on the shelf. So instead he screamed, louder and longer than he ever had before.
      Sounds of voices and movement came from Mama and Rusty's room. The light switch in the hall swished up and down a couple of times, but no light came on. There was a bang of something bumping into the table in the hall followed by a soft "Shi" sound. Then Rusty's voice said more forcefully, "Get the flashlight, Karen. The lights are out."
      The battle on the floor was over. Rusty walked right by Pooba without noticing him and gathered Tommy up into his arms. Tommy clung tightly to Rusty's neck and then Mama came into the room with the flashlight making a beam dance in front of her.
      Tommy reached for Mama and Rusty handed him to her. "What's wrong?" she asked as she pushed Tommy's sweat dampened curls out of his face.
      "Pooba killed the Trissidy monster," Tommy sobbed. "But I think the monster killed Pooba too." He pointed to the battlefield at Mama's feet.
      Rusty took the flashlight and bent over the bear. "What in the hell..."
      The flashlight showed a matted and torn Pooba. In the place where the wet spot always stayed, there was now a large, burned hole.

      The next morning, Tommy was late getting up. He awoke in the middle of Mama and Rusty's big bed and for a few moments couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. Then he slipped off the side and padded into the kitchen.
      Mama was cooking Saturday breakfast. Pancakes, his favorite. And Rusty was wrapping a shoe box in bright blue paper. Rusty looked up as Tommy's bare feet made squeaky sounds on the vinyl floor.
      "Hey, sleepy-head," he said. "I thought we should give Pooba a hero's burial." He held up the wrapped box. "How does right by the apple tree sound?"
      Tommy was surprised that Rusty had known that the apple tree was Pooba's favorite place to play. "OK," Tommy said.
      "This is silly." Mama's voice softly floated over Tommy's head.,
      "No," said Rusty. "This is important." He looked down at Tommy. "It's not time to eat right now. What say we do it before breakfast?"
      Tommy nodded and Rusty carried the shoe box out the back door. The close cropped grass was still wet and cool on Tommy's feet. A shovel leaned against the apple tree, a small mound of earth piled near its broad blade. Rusty put the blue box in the hole. "Do you want to do the honors?" he asked, holding the shovel handle toward Tommy.
      The shovel was big and hard to control, but Tommy took it and awkwardly scooped the dirt over the box. Rusty stood there and watched, but he didn't offer to help. When the earth was mounded up, Rusty hunkered down and smoothed it with his fine, long hands. "Do you want to get another bear?" Rusty acted like he didn't notice that tears were leaking from Tommy's eyes. "Of course, you have that nice one your Daddy gave you."
      "No," choked Tommy. "I don't need another bear. Pooba took care of me just fine."
      "Good," said Rusty, straightening and dusting off his hands. "I think that's the right decision. Let's go get that breakfast your mother is cooking up." He started to move off toward the door.
      "Rusty, would it be OK if I called you Poppa?"
      Rusty's movement stopped and he turned to look at Tommy. And Rusty's face had a smile on it that was brighter than the sun, that was brighter than just-polished copper, that was brighter than the red of Daddy's car. Tommy felt his spirits lift, for he knew that by naming him, he had made his Poppa real.

This is Meredith Simmons' second story with E-scape. For more about Merry, see the Author's Pad at our web site.