little buddies

Martha Kent parked the truck in front of Fordman’s Discount Store and turned to Clark sitting beside her, clutching his favorite stuffed dog named Flops. Clark was five years old, just getting ready to start elementary school, and Martha felt her heart lurch with pride, fear and love. Her little boy was growing up, and yet, she was so afraid of what the other children would think of him. He had one friend already, Pete Ross, and for that she was thankful.

“Come on, Clark. Let’s get you some new school clothes,” Martha said, pushing aside her feelings. She unbuckled his seatbelt and then hopped out of the truck. Instead of waiting for her to go around and open the passenger door, Clark scooted across the bench seat and held his arms out to her, Flops dangling from the fingers of his left hand.

She lifted him out and set him down, once again amazed at how fast he was growing. Hand in hand, they walked inside the large store. Clark immediately eyed the toy display.

“Martha, so good to see you. And Clark!” Mrs. Fordman exclaimed, hurrying over to greet them. “Look how adorable you are!” She bent and pinched Clark’s cheeks.

Clark smiled politely, but took a tentative step back behind his mother’s leg, holding his stuffed dog to his chest.

“Oh, he’s shy, how cute,” Mrs. Fordman said. She straightened and spoke to Martha. “We’ve got some new clothes, just came in today. I think there are some things that Clark might like.”

“That sounds great.”

Clark made a face. He hated clothes shopping. His mom made him try everything on, and then she would ooh and aah over how he looked. Plus, everything his mom bought him was too small in a few weeks.

“Clark, do you know my son Whitney?” Mrs. Fordman asked, pointing to the counter behind her. A blond boy of about eight sat on a stool, flipping through a coloring book. He looked up at the sound of his name. “Why don’t you go sit over there with him, and your mom and I will be right back with some new clothes?”

Clark raised his gaze to his mother, who nodded encouragingly.

“Okay,” he said, his voice small.

He walked over to the counter and looked up. Whitney Fordman eyed him for a moment, then shrugged.

“You can come around and sit next to me,” he said.

Clark nodded. He climbed up onto a stool and placed Flops in his lap.

“You carry around a stuffed animal?” Whitney asked. “How old are you?”

“Five.”

“Oh.”

Something in Whitney’s voice made Clark look down at Flops. Then, very slowly, he dropped the dog to the floor, ignoring the accusing eyes.

“Can I color too?” he asked.

Whitney ripped out a page from his book and passed it to Clark, along with some crayons. They colored in silence for a few minutes, but Whitney kept glancing towards the younger boy. He’d seen Clark around town, but had never paid much attention to him. His dad thought Clark was odd, and Whitney wondered why.

“Do you play sports?” he asked.

Clark seemed startled at being spoken too, and he paused in his coloring to look shyly at Whitney.

“My daddy says I could hurt someone.”

“Huh?”

“I guess I play kinda rough,” Clark said, frowning. He went back to coloring, concentrating hard on his picture. The tip of his little pink tongue was visible, poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe I could teach you to play nice,” Whitney said. “When you start school.”

“Okay.”

“Do you like candy?”

Clark’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes, but Mommy says too much makes me hy-hy-hyperact-hyperactive,” he said, smiling as he got the difficult word out. “I break things, on accident.”

Whitney laughed a little. “You’re dangerous.”

“Oh, umm...” Clark’s face fell and he sniffed, and Whitney felt bad.

“I have a candy bar,” Whitney said quickly, pulling a Hershey bar out from under the counter. “I’ll share it with you, if you want. You won’t be dangerous if I share with you, and I won’t tell your mom.”

He unwrapped the candy bar and broke it in two, passing one piece to Clark.

“Thank you,” Clark said, nibbling on the chocolate.

They fell into a comfortable silence and continued coloring. A few minutes later, Whitney noticed their mothers returning. He looked at Clark, saw the smudge of chocolate on his chin and reached over to wipe the evidence away with his thumb. He liked the boy and didn’t want him to get into trouble.

“Well, here we are, Clark,” Mrs. Fordman said, her arms full of clothes. Martha followed, carrying even more, plus several pairs of shoes.

“Let’s go to a changing room, okay, sweetie?” Martha asked.

Clark nodded, then looked at Whitney. “Bye,” he said.

Whitney gave a little wave as Clark hopped off the stool and started towards his mother. Whitney jumped down from his seat and picked up Flops, then hurried to catch Clark.

“You left him behind,” Whitney said, brushing dust from the dog’s head. “He’d be scared without you.”

Clark blushed and took the dog, hugging it to him.

“Thank you,” he said softly, peering up at Whitney through lowered lashes.

Martha Kent and Mrs. Fordman guided Clark towards the changing rooms in the back of the store, chatting all the while.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if our boys became friends?” Mrs. Fordman said cheerfully.

Clark glanced over his shoulder at Whitney, who had taken his seat behind the counter once again. Clark thought it would be very nice if he and Whitney became friends someday.

Very, very nice.

~end