Our Grey Boy - by Kama Ruby

I was five years old and cozy in my old school canopy bed adorned with shocking pink and white checkerboard linens. A side lying sleeper, I woke up to see the see our lit hallway rudely blocked by a few wrinkles from my absurdly colored pillowcase rudely blocking some of my view.

My mom always left the hallway light on due to my insistence. I know many children are afraid of the dark, but I wonder if the sadness of my parents being newly separated fueled some anxiety and unnecessary angst when the sun went down. I hated nighttime and the ridiculous fear it bestowed upon me. But this night I remember not feeling afraid. I can still hear the quite buzz from the hallway light and not feeling scared for a change. Not feeling really anything at all.

Something made me feel the need to sit up in bed and just stare out my window. We lived in a very old house that has since been condemned and my windows were those wonderful four-square wooden panels that are now sold as decorative items in antique stores. I don't recall the turning of the rusty latches, but my window quietly opened without the scrapping sound it would usually make. In crawls a large round grey head, skinny grey arms and a grey short tubby body. Pushing his body, (yes, I feel this being was male), through the window and clumsily staggering over my wooden toy box, he sat on it and eased himself to the floor with a bit of a thump. Yes. He was a Grey, but my visitor seemed to be a little more rotund than most depictions. I have since named my visitor Our Grey Boy.

No fear

No anxiety

I felt nothing. Nothing, I tell you. Nothing that a child should feel when a short, grey tubby non-human being, or any being for that matter, crawls through their window into their room.

Once he landed on the floor, his arms flailed about involuntarily. His movements reminded me the Muppets. Like when Kermit introduces guest artists and flails his arms about when he shouts, "YAAAAAAY!" Our Grey Boy also had a fun voice. He spoke a nonsensical babble, and made giggling baby sounds as if he was in a constant state of surprise. Not unlike a one year old attempting to learn language and is excited by all things they see and hear.

Our Grey Boy noticed the toy box as something other than a landing strip, and flailed to it in excitement. Before I could tell him to be careful: because the latch to the top of the toy box often failed and would smack the bejusus out of your nogin, he'd began throwing out all of my toys. I can't say he was looking for something specific, because it seemed like he was just in the mode of ramsacking, not really noting what he held and just threw on my floor.

"Hey! Stop it!," I plead in a direct whisper. "I'm gonna get in trouble. My mom doesn't like me throwing my toys on the floor."

He didn't even acknowledge what I said to him or notice the social que that I was not happy with him. He just kept throwing my toys all over the place. So, knowing that the lid to my toybox was eventually going to come crashing down on his head, I just sat quiet with my arms crossed and lips pursed.

"Whack!" comes down the toy box top on Our Grey Boy's big ole' head. He shouted out in surprise and shook his head back and forth like dogs do when they aim to lower their uneasiness. I just started laughing at him. See, I was total jerk even at 5 years old. I have a horrendous reputation for laughing at people when they get hurt instead of compassionately asking them if they are ok. Our Grey Boy began giggling too, almost repeating the laugh he'd heard from me.

It was at this point I got out of bed to meet him face to face. We were the same height. I

was astonished at how big his head was in relation to mine and directly stared into his large and glittering eyes. We were looking at each other, but Our Grey Boy didn't seem to really see me. He didn't return the marvel I saw in him. It was more like a doll looking back at me with glass eyes and no connection.

Our Grey Boy noticed my open closet, darted into it and pulled my clothes of their hangers. He saw the drawings I'd brazenly added to the walls of the closet with a black crayon. (Yes. I did get a big spanking for having the audacity to ruin my closet walls.) He seemed to try to read the Crayola hieroglyphs and sounded like he was frustrated he could not make out the images. The thought of getting in trouble again clearly didn't enter my ADHD head as I grabbed a box of crayons I had in my Crayola art kit. I gave Our Grey Boy a black crayon and I proudly brandished a green crayon for myself. I was ready to vandalize the closet walls again with my partner in crime. We stood butt to butt in my closet making nonsensical images on the walls and marveled at our genius work.

Then, I had a most brilliant idea. I left the closet to visit the most prized possession a 5-year-old could have. A Lite-Brite set! With full voice and gumption (Not sure why this didn't wake my mom up,) I repeated the slogan a few times.

"Lite-Brite, making things with light, What a sight, making things with Lite-Brite!"

The cadence and feeling I put into repeating the slogan should have landed me an acting job on a Lite-Brite commercial. Upon turning on my Lite-Brite, Our Grey Boy ran to it with extreme curiosity. His big banana feet awkwardly flopped on the floor to get close to the phenomenon and he seemed to be in danger of losing his balance and falling at any time.

I began showing him how to put the colored pegs in and slowly began making a heart shape with red pegs. Our Grey Boy just watched me. Then, slowly he reached down for one single green peg with his languid long fingers, placed it between his lips, tilted his head back, closed his eyes and began to hum. Get this! That green peg lit up in his lips. Our Grey Boy seemed to go into a trance and continued humming making the light flicker in accordance to how his voice fell from his body. Well, naturally I had to try it, so I too grabbed a green peg, placed it between my lips, and tilted my head back. No magic coming from my peg. I tried to match the humming sounds Our Grey Boy made, but sadly my body could not make plastic peg light up.

This is the last thing I remember of Our Grey Boy. I don't remember him leaving. I don't remember crawling back into bed. But I do remember getting in lots of trouble when my quiet and passive mom woke me up.

"What were you doing up? You know you're supposed to put your toys box in your toy box. Is this how you treat your toys?" I tried to tell her about Our Grey Boy which made her eyes go all crazy. "Stop lying!" she shouted. I gave up trying to explain myself because even as young as I was, I knew nobody would believe I truly had this encounter. So, I figured it was better to unload the worst news to her and pointed to the anointed hieroglyphs in my closet. My poor mom was too baffled, too mad, too perplexed to say or do anything. I didn't even get a spanking. She just lowered her head, let out a big huff and marched into the kitchen for a well-deserved cigarette.

Our Grey Boy never returned for another visit. I was always sad about that. Maybe he figured I wasn't worth his time because I didn't possess the talent to light up Lite-Brite pegs with my lips. Only a few friends believe I lived this story. My husband even jokes I must have been second hand stoned from my parent's love of Mary Jane. I don't care if you believe me or not. I know I was visited and how lucky am I?