23. Stick Figures
Twenty Three
Stick Figures
F ive year old Mila tiptoed into Rafael’s room, her little hands clutching a mismatched pile of crayons. “I got the purple one this time,” she whispered proudly, holding it up like a treasure.
“Purple’s for girls,” Rafael grumbled, stretching out on the floor beside her.
Mila puffed out her cheeks in protest. “No, it’s not.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine. But I get a sword.”
She immediately started sketching a wobbly stick figure of him with a lopsided crown on the white wall. “See? You’re the king. And I’m the queen!” she said, giggling as she drew a tiny stick figure with a big, crooked smile next to his.
“You can’t be queen,” Rafael objected, raising a brow like he’d seen grown-ups do. “You’re too small.”
Mila gasped, offended. “Am not! I’ll grow taller than you, you’ll see!”
“Never gonna happen.” He leaned closer, tapping the crayon in her hand. “Also, queens don’t have messy hair like that.”
She stuck out her tongue. “ Well, my hair is messy because I fight dragons.”
“What about me? Do I fight dragons too?”
Mila shook her head fiercely. “Nope. You fight bad guys. I fight dragons.”
“That’s not fair.” He poked her side, making her squirm and giggle. “Why do you get dragons?”
“’Cause I’m brave,” she declared proudly, adding a giant scribbled dragon next to their stick figures.
Rafael snorted.
“Come on, finish your sword. It’s gotta be purple too.” Mila whined.
“Purple swords are for girls,” he grumbled, but he took the crayon anyway. Because he would do anything for Mila. Even if it meant wielding a silly purple sword.