Mariquita

GEORGE raced across the living room, took a flying leap onto the worn blue sofa and vaulted over the back of it. The cushions already showed signs of previous trampoline activities. They coughed out little balls of white cotton in protest at their mistreatment.

George McGregor, you’d better not be bouncing on that couch. His mom’s stern voice made him pause for a split second.

Oh huh! Mom must have her super-radar-power switched on.

Sorry. Then he was off again, his sparkling cape flying out behind and his socks sliding along the polished wooden floors.

He rounded the door into the bedroom and skidded to a halt. Outside sirens blared. There were two, no three, emergency vehicles racing across the city. This is a job for Super Sky Devil.

He pulled open a dresser drawer and yanked out fistfuls of clothing.

Where was it?

Mark and Robbie sauntered in, frowns on their foreheads, boredom in their eyes.

George, bounced with excitement as he searched. Come on, come on guys, you need to get ready.

Mark rolled his eyes and puffed out his chubby cheeks. Robbie sniggered back at him. Not noticing, George held up two brightly colored towels. I know, they’re not as good as my cape but they will have to do for now. I told you to bring your own.

He tucked them into the back of their clothing. His unruly auburn curls flopped into his eyes as he tried to concentrate. Cross-eyed, he blew at his bangs to get rid of the strands stuck to his eyelashes.

He went back to hunting through his closet. Now where on earth is it? Mom, Mom! George sprinted out of the room and into the kitchen.

The tiny room was hot and airless from the oven, and his mother was up to her elbows in flour. A delicious smell of muffins drifted through the air. Libby McGregor had an apron tied around her waist that didn’t seem to be doing the job it was intended for. Batter, egg yolk, and sugar clung to her sleeves, chest and pant legs. Her dark hair, was haloed in flour. She looked like a fluffy rain cloud was following her. It reminded George of the grumpy cartoon characters he watched on Sunday mornings.

He sighed. She doesn’t look much like Super Mom today.

George spotted her cape draped across a stool. Soiled by drips of greasy batter and red jelly, it look more like a rag than a hero’s cape. Some super hero she is!

He tutted at the spoilt costume.

Whatever is the matter? Libby rubbed her white powdered nose against her shoulder.

Mom, where’s my tee?

What shirt?

The Super Sky Devil one. George’s voice turned whinier. It’s not in my drawer.

Oh, I think it went in the laundry, honey. Give me a minute to finish…

But Mom, I need it now. The baddies are already attacking. The police and fire crews are on their way. We need to get going.

Robbie and Mark appeared at the door with towel capes and grumpy expressions. George looked them up and down. Robbie was tall and skinny, bright red hair, pant legs too high above his ankles. Mark was round faced with a chubby tummy. His trousers looked two sizes to small. George wasn’t happy with their costumes. His friends looked more like Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble than super heroes. Still it was the best he could do.

George shot out of the kitchen and romped across the lounge. He crashed into the laundry room. I bet other super heroes don’t have this problem. Why does Mom have to wash everything all the time? I only rescued one person in that shirt yesterday.

He dropped to his knees and rummaged through a large basket of clothes. They fluttered in all directions, a kaleidoscope of cotton gliding across the room.

No tee.

Mom, it’s not here. His yell was hard to hear above the sirens blaring outside.

I can’t be late to save the day!

George could imagine it now. The news reporter would interview all the passersby and they would shake their heads— If only Super Sky Devil had arrived on time! Then the reporter would put on a serious reporting face. It is believed, Super Sky Devil couldn’t help with the emergency because his Mom washed his super hero costume. The good people of New York City would laugh, and no one would trust Super Sky Devil again.

Mom! George shoved his head out the door, I need it now and it’s not here!

His mother appeared, little puffs of flour multiplying around her. Georgie, what a mess. She knelt to fix the chaos he’d caused.

What on earth was she doing? There wasn’t time for this. Don’t do that now, Mom. I have to have it. Where is it? George tugged at her sweater, sending even more flour flakes flying.

The soft white cloud hung around both of them like a patch of fog. George spluttered as he inhaled the flour dust. Mom put her hand to his shoulder, Deep breaths honey. Calm down.

Once he stopped coughing, she began to refold the laundry.

Mom use your super-eyesight-power!

George’s super-telepathy worked. Libby scanned the room, her x-ray vision zooming in on the tumble dryer. She untied the cape and whipped off his blue dinosaur tee. With super-speed, she pulled a bright yellow shirt over his head.

Robbie and Mark looked at the shirt with its orange shield and the words ‘Super Hero,’ and giggled.

I’ll do it, George wheezed.

He wrestled the too-small-tee away from his mom. Robbie nudged his friend in the ribs. Mark rolled his eyes. George’s cheeks burned in embarrassment. Stop it, Mom. I’m eight and a super hero. I can put on my own stupid t-shirt.

Libby drew her eyebrows together. Uh oh, that’s Mom’s I’ll-take-no-nonsense-from-you face.

George Matthew McGregor, you can drop that attitude right now. Super hero or not, you are going the right way for a time out.

But George didn’t have time to wait for the Super Mom lecture. He grabbed his cape and hurtled back through the lounge and into the bedroom. Tying the cape back around his throat, he flew to the balcony doors.

Mom, Mom, Mom! George struggled to pull them apart. They’re stuck again. Hurry up.

Super Mom turned the key and the doors slid open with ease. No climbing, no leaning over…

I know, you say it every time. He rushed to the railings and peered through. The sirens drifted away into the distance and despite his super-hero-eyesight, he couldn’t see where they’d gone. By the time his friends arrived even the flashing lights had stopped.

George slumped to his knees. He traced his eyes up and down the maze of city streets. New York looked like a giant map

from up here. He worked his way from left to right and back again.

Where were they? The sirens cut out all together. He sighed and slumped against the railing. He was too late. Super Sky Devil did not save the day this time.

AS George listened to the music of the city below, his chest started to heave up and down. He took in some big gulps of oxygen but the air didn’t fill his lungs. I need my inhaler. He fell to all fours, his breath coming in short fast bursts. Struggling to breathe, he tried to remember what to do. Breathe…Slow…Deep…But that was easier thought of than done. George’s wheezing increased, and the tight feeling in his chest grew worse.

He began to panic. Guuh…gh…get…mmmom. He sank to the floor, his face sweaty, skin gray.

Mark and Robbie laughed at first, thinking George was playing a game. When he started to turn blue, they ran to find Mrs. McGregor.

Libby arrived, flour-less and with her face wiped clean. Silhouetted against the doorway, she looked more angel than super hero.

Slow breaths, sweetie. Mark and Robbie, go watch TV for a few minutes while I help George.

The boys nodded, their faces pale, eyes wide with fear. Libby sprang into full Super Mom mode. Within seconds, she’d bundled George into her arms and placed him on the bed. Disappearing into the bathroom, she returned with an inhaler and nebulizer.

One…two…three long puffs later, and George’s airways opened up. Pink pushed back the blue from his fingertips and the panic seeped away. Super Mom laid a cool hand on his sweaty forehead and brushed away the stray curls that stuck to his face. Bit by bit, his erratic breathing became more controlled.

George blinked back tears as they formed in the corner of his eye. He didn’t want his mom to see he was upset. But Super Hero moms always notice things, and now was no exception.

Libby locked the balcony door. Shutting out the noisy hustle and bustle. Now, get some rest, Georgie. I don’t want to see you off that bed for at least a couple of hours.

But Mom, Robbie and Mark came to play.

You need to rest. I’ll call their moms to pick them up early. They can come back another day.

George nodded but he felt his tears rising again. Libby patted his hand. I’ll send them to sit with you while they wait for their rides. How about I bring some hot muffins for you all?

He gulped down the lump in his throat and gave her a weak smile. A few minutes later, Mark appeared at the door with a plate. He placed it on the bed.

Robbie hung by the door and stared at George. Are you sick?

George shook his head. It’s asthma.

My mom says I can’t play with sick kids ‘cuz they have germs, and we have a baby at home.

But I don’t have germs. Sometimes when I run around too much, I can’t breathe.

He picked up a muffin, and nibbled the edge. Maybe it would make him feel better. Mark looked at the cakes and licked his lips. George held out the plate and Mark snatched one up, grinning at Robbie. Taking a huge bite, he spat crumbs. Mmm, these are so good!.

The muffin was too tempting for Robbie, and he forgot all about George’s germs as he grabbed one. Munching on his cake, he looked around the bedroom. Don’t you have an X-box or TV?

George shook his head. Mom and Dad say electronics spoil the fun because you can’t use your imagination.

What? You don’t watch telly ever? Robbie looked shocked.

Course I do. Every Sunday morning, while Dad reads the paper and Mom does her craft projects.

Mark’s mouth fell open showing his chewed up cake stuck to his teeth. You don’t even have a Play Station?

I don’t like those games. It’s more fun to play super heroes.

Robbie glanced at Mark and pulled a face. That game is boring.

Yeah, it’s boring, Mark chimed in. And only for little kids, isn’t it, Rob?

That’s right. Babies play that. You should get an X-box. You can play super hero games on that, they’re awesome.

George shrugged at them. But playing real super heroes is more fun. We can dress up.

Robbie screwed up his face. I don’t like doing that. If you had an X-box, I would come and play again. But I don’t want to if it’s stupid dressing up games.

Were they serious? Who wants to sit and stare at a screen all day? But it’s— George left the words hanging when his friends started to laugh at him.

George looked down at his super hero shirt and felt foolish. He untied his cape, letting it fall to the floor. They were right. He wasn’t a real super hero. Real heroes didn’t have asthma, and their moms didn’t take their outfits to wash. He was just a silly little boy with asthma who didn’t have an X-box.

Libby McGregor bustled into the room. Your mother’s here, Robbie. She’s going to take you home as well, Mark.

Robbie ran out of the room. Mark gave a little wave to George and smiled politely at Libby. Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. McGregor.

The two Mom’s chatted in the living room. Robbie interrupted them. Mom can Mark come an’ play X-box.

George rolled over. The front door closed behind his pals and he closed his eyes. He didn’t like how Robbie and Mark made fun of his game. Does that mean they aren’t my friends anymore?

Libby came to check on him. You doing okay there?

George nodded as his mom joined him on the bed. Move up a bit, I’ve eaten too many muffins. I need more space than this. He laughed and scooted over. She put out an arm and he snuggled under it. Why so glum? He shrugged his shoulders. Is your chest still tight?

No. I’m sad about Robbie and Mark.

We’ll make a new play date, don’t worry.

George rubbed at his eyes. The skin around them was blotchy and itchy. They won’t come.

Of course they will. You were all having fun. I explained your asthma attack to Robbie’s Mom. She said she’d bring him over after school next week so you can finish your game. Tears slipped down his cheeks and he brushed them away.

Hey, why the tears?

They said I was a little kid, because I play dress up.

You’re not, honey. You’re using your imagination.

George knew what came next.

Dad used his imagination when he was a child. He dreamt up wonderful worlds and fantastic creatures. And then he drew pictures of them. That is why he is such a brilliant illustrator. His vivid imagination lets him create wonderful pictures for story books.

Libby wiped away George’s stray curls and pulled a book on to her lap. She flipped open the pages and tapped her finger on the picture. See, he couldn’t have drawn this without his imagination.

George studied the pictures. This was his favorite book that his dad had illustrated for. It was full of fantastic dragons, faeries, and elves. Mom flipped the pages until she came to a spectacular watercolor of a dragon sweeping over an enchanted forest. George smiled and looked up at the wall behind him. The original painting of this scene, sat in a silver frame over his bed. His dad painted it before George was born. It was the most special of all his father’s illustrations because it was the reason his parents met.

Tell me again, about the picture. George never tired of the tale.

Well, I was twenty-two and I worked at a publisher’s. It was my job to tell the important people when clients arrived.

And you made the authors coffee and chatted to them about their books.

Yes, I did. One day, your dad came in with the author who was writing this book. They came to show the Chief Honcho the illustrations.

Chief Honcho?

The Big Cheese. Mr. V. Important.

Your boss? The one with a nose like a potato?

The very same.

Dad was nervous, wasn’t he?

Libby curled the ends of her hair with her fingers. Yes, because it was his first book project. He got his words mixed up, and he sweated a lot. I tried to make him feel better by chatting to him.

"And he showed you his porto-filo, didn’t he?"

She ruffled his hair. Portfolio. Yes. His drawings were beautiful, but you know that already.

George grinned. On his dresser was a photo of his mom and dad taken that day. His dad wore a shirt and tie. The brown tweed jacket was too big for him. On the elbows were shiny leatherette patches. If you looked close, you could see ink on his fingers.

In the picture, Libby stood between his dad and the author. With her hair tied in a ponytail and she wore a spotty blouse, a wide black belt, a tight black skirt, and high heels. Dad said it was her naughty secretary look. Whenever he said this, his mom scowled and said she was a very good secretary. Then they always laughed.

After you took the photo, did he ask you for a date?

No, he left and I didn’t think I would see him again. But the next day, he came back with a cardboard tube. Inside—

Was the painting! George clapped his hands together.

"Yes, it was this painting. She pointed to the one above his bed. Who’s telling the story, you or me?"

George grinned and put his thumb and forefinger to his lips making a zipping action.

Libby chuckled and continued. He gave it to me and asked me to dinner. A faraway look appeared in her eyes, And—

George couldn’t help himself. The rest is history! He clamped his hands over his mouth, his eyes twinkling.

Libby brushed the hair out of his eyes. Feeling better?

He nodded. A little.

Good. Now, do you want me to read this book to you?

George glanced sideways at his Mom. Robbie and Mark have X-boxes.

That’s nice for them. She turned to the beginning of the book and fluffed up the pillow behind her.

They said they would only play with me if I had one too.

Libby turned the book over and laid it in her lap. I didn’t think you liked computer games?

George shrugged his shoulders. I don’t, but they won’t be my friend unless I do.

Libby kissed his forehead. Hmm, they don’t sound like very good friends. Real friends don’t care what you have. They just want to be your friend because you’re you.

But they said I was boring, because I don’t have that stuff.

"George McGregor! They are the boring ones. You take no notice. You can never be boring or bored, because you have your imagination. Friendship is not about possessions. It is about what you have in here. She placed her hand over her heart and then lifted it to her head, And here. A real friend will always be in your heart and in your head and you will always be in theirs."

George knew she was right, but he worried that Robbie and Mark didn’t see it that way.

THE wind whipped around the tall skyscraper forcing Super Sky Devil to make minute adjustments in his flight path to avoid the overhanging balconies. Engaging his x-ray vision, he scouted through the buildings and along the streets. His super-hero-sensitive ears, could hear the plaintive cries, but he couldn’t see… Ah there they were, down in Central Park. Super Sky Devil placed his arms tight against his sides. Then he broke the speed of sound as he raced towards the cry for help.

Gliding to a halt, he hovered in the air then lowered himself to the ground. The passersby gathered together and marveled at his arrival. They surrounded him, shouting his name and waving pens and paper. But Super Sky Devil didn’t have time to sign autographs. He had a rescue mission to carry out.

He put out his hand and halted the excited crowd, then he pointed at a small girl. The crowd followed his finger. You can do it! someone cried out.

Super Sky Devil placed his hands on his waist. Puffing out his strong super hero chest, he said in his best heroic voice What seems to be the problem little girl?

The small girl’s face was streaked with tears and snot hung from her nose. Super Sky Devil tried not to look as he reached into his super hero pocket. He pulled out his handy pack of travel tissues and the crowd cheered. Thank goodness for Sky Devil’s mom, she always made him carry a packet for just incase.

The little girl blew her nose. That was better. Super Sky Devil felt a lot more comfortable looking at her now. Through heaving sobs, she said, Can you rescue my brother and our kitten?

Super Sky Devil’s head snapped to a tree, his super-senses springing into action. He traced the trunk up into the branches. About twenty feet up, there was a small tubby boy, his eyes red from crying. Clutched to his chest was a tiny orange kitten.

The crowds’ hands flew as one to their mouths. A young woman carrying a small furry puppy in her purse, sniffed. A tear slid down her face. Please help him, Super Sky Devil.

Stand back everyone! Super Sky Devil said. The whole crowd took a step back. No, further back than that.

The crowd shuffled back