The Tiny Man by Tim Boiteau

The Tiny Man by Tim Boiteau

The tiny man danced over the edge of the crib. “Bet you can’t catch me,” he whispered in his scratchy voice, grinning with his stitched-on mouth. He shook his moon head, jingling the bell on the tip of his nose.

Attracted by the sound and the bright colors of his patchwork clothes, Owen grinned and reached for him, but the tiny man was too fast, leaping down to the ground, and doing a cartwheel into the doorway. Owen climbed up the side of the crib, a trick he had just learned that week, and with some effort and grunting, managed to lower himself to the carpet. The tiny man giggled and danced off down the hall.

Owen ran after him, out of the room, down the hall, and into the living room. There, he stopped, looking around. “Where?” he said.

Someone tittered, and the child turned towards the kitchen, just in time to see the tiny man dodging behind the kitchen counter. Squealing with pleasure, Owen ran past the couch, brushing past his sleeping mother’s head, and into the kitchen.

The tiny man rounded the far corner.

“Bet you can’t catch me,” he sang.

Owen giggled. Followed him to the basement door, which was blocked by a safety gate. This, too, the toddler had also figured out how to climb over, after having seen the tiny man come and go this way countless times. Owen lowered him onto the first step and teetered there a moment, but then caught hold of the rail. Brow set with focus, he waddled down the stairs. He could hear the tiny man’s laughter and singing and jingling below, saw his antic shadow stretched across the wall, making him huge and twisted.

At the base of the stairs, Owen stopped, then spotted the tiny man disappearing through the door that led to the lower deck of the house. He pursued, soon stepping out into the bright summer sun, blinded by the light reflected off the water of the pool.

“Over here,” the tiny man said. He was standing on the diving board. Bouncing up and down enticingly.

Own ran out, stumbling. He tripped and fell face first on the wooden deck, but he didn’t cry. He was too focused on the tiny man, on catching him and finally, after all this time, being able to play with him. He ran around to the side of the diving board, where the tiny man was still bouncing and giggling.

Owen stepped onto the diving board, then was startled by a scream. Seconds later, he was in his mother’s arms, who was crying, which made him cry, and then he saw that the tiny man had scampered away again. He was always scampering away when his mother appeared.

This made him cry all the harder.

Still, Owen would catch him one day.

One day.

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