Mara had discovered something disturbing about adults.

She had always suspected it.

Tonight she had evidence.

They were strange.

Not ordinary strange.

Children were ordinary strange.

Children collected stones because one looked like a potato. They asked questions adults did not want to answer. They fought, cried, laughed, and five minutes later were friends again.

Adults were different.

Adults spent all day behaving as though they knew exactly what they were doing.

Then somebody fed them, gave them rum and started playing music.

And apparently that was enough to destroy civilisation.

Mara watched the captain attempt to balance a spoon on his nose.

It fell.

Again.

MARA: “He’s very bad at that.”

CHIBI: “He’s improving.”

The captain tried again.

The spoon disappeared into his beard.

Half the crew laughed.

MARA: “No, he isn’t.”

CHIBI: “Different skill.”

MARA: “What skill?”

CHIBI: “Losing spoons.”

His daughter stood behind him.

She was laughing.

Really laughing.

Not the careful smile Mara had seen earlier.

The captain heard it.

He looked up.

For a moment, he simply stared at his daughter.

Then he smiled too.

Neither noticed the spoon still buried in his beard.

Mara did.

She decided not to tell them.

Some things were better that way.

She looked around the deck.

Something had happened to everyone.

The frightening sailor was crying.

The quiet sailor was singing.

The serious sailor was dancing on a table.

A man who had spent the afternoon shouting orders was lying beneath it, explaining something extremely important to a dog.

MARA: “Why are they doing that?”

CHIBI: “Which one?”

MARA: “All of it.”

Chibi looked around.

CHIBI: “Party.”

MARA: “That isn’t an answer.”

CHIBI: “Works for them.”

The large sailor who had been crying began to sing.

His voice broke.

He stopped.

The woman beside him simply continued.

Then another sailor joined.

Then another.

The large man wiped his face and tried again.

When his voice failed, the others carried the words for him.

MARA: “Why is he crying here?”

Chibi considered this.

CHIBI: “Maybe here is where the crying was.”

Mara frowned.

That did not make sense.

Which meant it was probably a Chibi answer.

Earlier, Mara had seen the same man bleed without crying.

Now his face was wet and his nose was running.

Nobody seemed to think he had become smaller.

That was interesting.

Nearby, two sailors were arguing.

One had a swollen lip.

The other was missing a shoe.

MARA: “Are they enemies?”

CHIBI: “Don’t think so.”

MARA: “They hit each other.”

CHIBI: “Yes.”

MARA: “Friends don’t hit each other.”

Chibi looked at her.

Mara remembered yesterday.

MARA: “Crabs don’t count.”

CHIBI: “Didn’t say anything.”

One sailor shoved the other.

The second shoved him back.

Then the first man’s mouth twitched.

He was trying not to laugh.

“Don’t.”

The twitch became a smile.

“Don’t you bloody dare.”

He laughed.

The other lasted perhaps two seconds.

Then both collapsed against a barrel.

MARA: “They were angry.”

CHIBI: “Probably still are.”

MARA: “But they’re laughing.”

CHIBI: “Can do both.”

Mara looked around again.

Perhaps adults were not changing from one thing into another.

Perhaps several things could be true at once.

The crying man was sad.

And happy to be among friends.

The two fighting men were angry.

And amused.

The captain was important.

And ridiculous.

His daughter was hurt.

And happy he was there.

Maybe people were simply not very good at being only one thing.

Then Mara noticed Sean.

He was wearing an enormous red hat and singing terribly.

MARA: “Is he supposed to sound like that?”

CHIBI: “Probably not.”

MARA: “Where did he get that hat?”

CHIBI: “Bad decisions.”

Sean attempted a high note.

The note escaped injured.

Mara covered her ears.

Then Sean stopped.

Only for a moment.

He wiped his cheek.

MARA: “He’s crying too.”

CHIBI: “Yes.”

MARA: “Why is everyone crying?”

CHIBI: “Maybe they saved it up.”

Mara turned.

MARA: “Can you do that?”

CHIBI: “Adults do.”

MARA: “Why?”

Chibi shrugged.

MARA: “If you’re sad, why don’t you cry when you’re sad?”

CHIBI: “Busy.”

MARA: “Doing what?”

Chibi looked around the ship.

The captain.

The sailors.

The wounded.

The people who had spent the day surviving.

CHIBI: “Adult things.”

Mara frowned.

MARA: “That’s stupid.”

CHIBI: “Probably.”

A thought occurred to her.

MARA: “Do adults forget how?”

CHIBI: “How what?”

MARA: “How to be sad.”

They looked at Sean.

No.

“Happy?”

The captain’s daughter laughed.

No.

“Angry?”

Someone shouted something about a goat.

No.

“Scared?”

A sailor nearby was admitting that he had thought he would die that afternoon.

No.

Mara counted them.

Sad.

Happy.

Angry.

Scared.

All still there.

MARA: “Then what happens?”

Chibi thought.

CHIBI: “They get quieter.”

That made sense.

Maybe growing up did not mean the feelings disappeared.

Maybe adults simply became good at making them quiet.

Quiet enough to work.

Quiet enough to fight.

Quiet enough to decide.

Quiet enough that nobody else had to know.

Until tonight.

Tonight everything had become noisy again.

Then Mara grabbed Chibi’s sleeve.

MARA: “Look.”

A sailor was dancing with a broom.

Not dancing while holding a broom.

Dancing with it.

He turned.

The broom followed.

He bowed.

The broom did not.

The sailor looked offended.

MARA: “Why is he dancing with a broom?”

CHIBI: “Maybe she asked.”

MARA: “It’s a broom.”

CHIBI: “Rude.”

The sailor spun again.

The broom struck another pirate.

For one terrible second Mara thought there would be another fight.

Instead, the second pirate bowed to the broom.

“May I?”

The first surrendered his partner.

The second danced away with her.

Mara laughed.

She could not help it.

Then the captain appeared.

He had recovered the spoon from his beard.

He pointed it at Chibi.

“You cheated.”

CHIBI: “At what?”

“The spoon.”

CHIBI: “Did I win?”

“Yes.”

CHIBI: “Then maybe.”

Mara stared at him.

MARA: “You always do that.”

CHIBI: “It keeps working.”

The captain laughed.

His daughter appeared behind him.

“Leave the children alone.”

“They started it.”

MARA: “We did not!”

She looked at Chibi.

Chibi smiled.

The daughter looked at Chibi too.

Then at her father.

“They started it.”

The captain wandered back towards the feast.

His daughter watched him go.

Mara watched her.

MARA: “Are you happy?”

The woman looked down.

“Right now?”

Mara nodded.

She looked at her father.

“Yes.”

MARA: “Are you still angry with him?”

Her smile became smaller.

“Yes.”

Mara frowned.

MARA: “Both?”

The woman nodded.

“Both.”

That matched the evidence.

MARA: “Did you forgive him?”

The woman looked towards her father again.

“No.”

Mara waited.

The woman smiled sadly.

“But I can still be happy that he’s here.”

Then she returned to the feast.

Mara watched her go.

MARA: “That’s complicated.”

CHIBI: “Adult.”

MARA: “I don’t want to be an adult.”

CHIBI: “Too late.”

MARA: “I’m nine.”

CHIBI: “Started already.”

MARA: “Can I stop?”

CHIBI: “Probably not.”

MARA: “That’s terrible.”

CHIBI: “We have sweets.”

Mara considered this.

MARA: “Fine.”

They sat together and watched the night.

A man cried.

Someone held him.

Someone sang.

Someone kissed someone.

Someone was rejected and survived.

Someone admitted being afraid.

Two men argued and laughed.

Someone danced with a broom.

The captain forgot to be impressive.

His daughter forgot, for a few minutes, to be angry.

Not because the anger had disappeared.

Because something else was allowed to exist beside it.

MARA: “I think grown-ups have too many rules.”

CHIBI: “Yes.”

MARA: “Not rules like don’t kill people.”

CHIBI: “Good rule.”

MARA: “Rules like don’t cry.”

Sean’s voice cracked spectacularly.

“Don’t sing badly.”

CHIBI: “Failed.”

“Don’t dance if people are looking.”

The broom passed again.

CHIBI: “Failed.”

“Don’t tell people you love them.”

Somebody shouted:

“I LOVE YOU TOO!”

CHIBI: “Very failed.”

Mara smiled.

MARA: “Maybe tonight they forgot the rules.”

Chibi looked around.

CHIBI: “Some.”

Mara remembered the sailor who had been told no.

He had walked away.

MARA: “Not all the rules.”

Chibi looked at her.

MARA: “You still stop when somebody says stop.”

CHIBI: “Yes.”

“You still shouldn’t really hurt people.”

“Yes.”

“You still shouldn’t take things that aren’t yours.”

Chibi looked away.

MARA: “Chibi.”

CHIBI: “Mostly.”

Mara laughed.

Maybe that was the difference.

Some rules stopped you hurting people.

Others merely stopped you looking foolish.

Some protected another person’s boundaries.

Others kept your own feelings hidden.

Don’t hit.

Don’t force.

Listen when someone says no.

Those mattered.

But there were other rules.

Don’t cry.

Don’t dance.

Don’t say you miss him.

Don’t tell her you love her.

Don’t let anyone see you’re frightened.

Don’t be ridiculous.

Don’t be a child.

Tonight, some of those rules were losing their grip.

Not all.

Hopefully not all.

Just enough.

The music became faster.

People stood.

Chibi was already moving towards them.

MARA: “Nobody asked you to dance.”

CHIBI: “Didn’t need to.”

Mara followed.

For a while there were no questions.

She danced badly.

Nobody cared.

Chibi danced worse.

He claimed it was deliberate.

The captain danced.

His daughter laughed.

Sean sang.

Eljara joined the rhythm.

The crying sailor danced with wet cheeks.

The fighting sailors danced beside each other.

The broom disappeared into the crowd.

Perhaps she had found someone better.

Eventually Mara stopped, dizzy and breathless.

MARA: “I think I understand adults now.”

CHIBI: “Already?”

MARA: “A little.”

CHIBI: “That’s more than them.”

Mara looked around.

At the crying.

The laughing.

The singing.

The terrible dancing.

MARA: “They don’t stop being children.”

Chibi followed her gaze.

MARA: “They just get better at hiding it.”

He thought.

CHIBI: “Maybe.”

MARA: “And tonight they forgot.”

Chibi shook his head.

MARA: “No?”

CHIBI: “Maybe they remembered.”

Mara stopped.

That was annoyingly better.

They had not become children again.

Nothing they had survived had disappeared.

They had not become innocent.

Perhaps they had simply remembered that growing older did not require abandoning every person they had once been.

The child was still there.

Not underneath the adult.

Not instead of the adult.

Inside the same person.

Waiting sometimes to cry without shame.

To laugh too loudly.

To dance badly.

To say:

I’m scared.

I miss you.

I love you.

Look at me.

Stay.

Mara took Chibi’s hand.

MARA: “Come on.”

CHIBI: “Where?”

MARA: “Dance.”

CHIBI: “We were dancing.”

MARA: “Again.”

CHIBI: “Why?”

Mara pulled him towards the others.

MARA: “Because I want to.”

Chibi grinned.

CHIBI: “Good reason.”

And they disappeared into the crowd.

The feast grew louder behind them.

Not because the people aboard had become someone else.

Because, for one warm Caribbean night, they were becoming less afraid of being all the people they already were.

Which parts of yourself did growing up teach you to hide — and which ones would you like to remember?

If you remember what this felt like…

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