"No, but I need to use my head and be careful. You can't just shift any time you think about it. You need a plan."
"Why?"
"Safety."
"Is it safe here?"
Wallace looked around, as if judging the air currents, the general layout of the land, and his senses and instincts. It was strangely mesmerizing, watching him interact with Eli this way. He didn't seem to be talking down to him at all, and yet Eli was more or less following the conversation, and completely fascinated by what he was learning.
"I don't know," said Wallace finally, turning back to Eli. "But in any case, I wouldn't shift now, because I don't know any of you that well — aside from your father — and I wouldn't be comfortable in my fox form. I wouldn't feel safe. You might not be comfortable either, and besides that, it's always very rude to simply shift and leave in the middle of the picnic. Even to hunt for voles." His eyes twinkled at Eli, and I caught my son grinning — actually grinning — back.
"Foxes can eat picnic food. Foxes can eat almost anything," Eli informed him, kicking his feet. "I bet you could sit right there and eat like — like a fox on TV!" He giggled at the thought.
Wallace grinned. "Yes, I'm sure I could, but I'm not going to do that."
"Do you have soft fur?"
Wallace laughed. "Of course."
"Can—"
"No, Eli," said Wallace gently, before I could intervene. "I really don't particularly like to have my fur touched, and to be honest, I'd be afraid you'd pull my tail."
"I — I wouldn't." Eli looked conscience struck. "Never."
"I believe you. But I don't know you very well yet. In my fox form, I simply wouldn't feel safe around you yet, much less letting you touch me. I have to listen to myself about when and where I feel safe. If I override that too much, or too often, it's very bad for me, very stressful, and it can put me in harm's way. A fox is not very big, you know. I'm a lot smaller than a dog, not much bigger than a cat. A lot of things can hurt a fox."
"Like a kid. Like they can hurt a kid," said Eli softly.
"Much like a kid," said Wallace quietly. "It's important to feel safe, when you're small."
Eli contemplated this for a few moments as he chewed his hot dog. Mom and I exchanged looks of surprised, pleased bewilderment, and didn't interrupt.
"But you have teeth," said Eli suddenly. "Why would you ever feel scared when you can bite someone?" He bared his own small, partly missing teeth in demonstration.
Wallace shrugged. "I wouldn't want to bite anyone. It doesn't make me feel safe knowing I might have to someday."
Eli looked thoughtful. "Like a bully," he said slowly. "If you punch a bully, it might be worse later, and you get in trouble, too."
"Yes, rather like that," said Wallace. "It's best if you never have to defend yourself. That's why I'm as careful as I can be. But bullies are harder to hide from, aren't they?"
Eli nodded with an exaggerated, frustrated frown, stuffing a piece of cookie into his mouth and chewing hard.
I wanted to intervene before this became a school special about bullying, since my son was clearly uncomfortable with the topic. But Wallace didn't seem to have noticed; he'd become introspective and spoke slowly. "I remember I was bullied for reading too much. But the popular kids could be just as horrible to the kids who didn't read enough. Any little difference — it was dreadful for a few years."
"Did you bite them?" asked Eli indistinctly. "Or — or punch?"
Wallace smiled uncomfortably. "No, I'm afraid I just hid. I never knew what I should do, so mostly, I read even more, or hid out in the library." He gave an unhappy little laugh. "I got rather good at it."
"I'd hide if I could, too," said Eli. "But you can't hide being stupid."
I stared at my son in astonishment. Eli thought he was stupid? The kid was bright in many different ways, curious about the world and willing to try new things, willing to make friends, trying so hard at school and life it could break your heart. He struggled to catch up, and hadn't made it yet, and so he thought he was stupid?
"Eli, you're not stupid," I said.
He looked at me quickly, as if remembering I was there, and then looked down. "Everybody does better than me at math. I do the remedy — the remedy — the—" He made a frustrated sound. "Remedymath, and still do less good than anybody! Keith says I'm not gonna get to the next gradeat all."
"That's not true," I said stoutly. Eli looked like he wasn't contradicting me because he didn't want to be rude, but his expression was doubtful, worried. He probably thought I'd be disappointed in him if he didn't graduate with the other kids...maybe he even thought I'd be angry. I hoped not.
