“It’s so beautiful Zoidboro. Just like you said. The trees would grow, the water would go. I’m ready to name my baby.”
“Jackson, then?” guessed Zoidboro, steeling himself for disappointment.
“No, a compromise. If our son is very special — say, can do 6 butterflies in a row…”
“What’s a butterfly?” queried his cephalopodic partner while watching yet another shooting star cross the sky.
“That’s right. You never went to dance school like me — sorry. It’s a cartwheel where your hands never touch the ground. Anyway if he can do 6 of those as opposed to, say, 4 or even 5, we will call him Jackson. Otherwise: Daniel. Danny will be a good boy, I’m sure, but not special. Jackson is reserved for Special.”
“Like Jack’s son.”
“Yes. I wish 100 times over that he is special, but we must love him equally either way.”
“Agreed,” Zoidboro quickly returned.
Patrick turned away from the sky and toward his partner, his ally. “And now, it’s time, to go, inside.”
“I have found them! In the heart of the Pineapple Island. My intuitions are correct!”
“And across the street: another tiny car! This must be the controller.”
“I’ll go inside.”
“Ahh. Should have guessed. Tessa.”
“Who are you??”