Pretty Much Trash

Every night Scully asked William what story he wanted before bed, and every night William answered, “Mommy, tell me the one about the fox.” And every night, Scully did.

She told him a different story each time, but the fox never changed. The fox was tall, smart, and had shiny green eyes. “Like me?!” William would say, and every night Scully said, “Yes, like you William. You have so much in common with the fox” And every night, she’d tell him why.

Scully would tell him of the fox’s mystical powers. Most foxes, she would say, bring ruin, but this fox, this fox was different. This fox’s powers brought wonder to the ordinary. This fox looked up at the night sky and brought a twinkle with him when he looked back down. No other fox could find the hidden extraordinaries of life.

When William would come home from school, upset about being teased for his red hair and big nose, Scully would tell him of the fox’s best trait. “He is the misunderstood hero”, she would say. And William would grin wide and reply, “Tell me why again, I forgot”. And every time, she would tell him why. He was different. His ideas were different, he refused to follow the other foxes. “Not all that is different is bad”, Scully would remind William. The fox was tough on the outside, but only to protect himself. The world let him down time and time again, so he began to understand the world, and people began to misunderstand him.

“But not everyone” William would say. So Scully told the story of the fox’s family. The fox loved once, he loved someone who loved him back, and they had a baby fox. The fox protected his family every day; he hunted for them, guarded them, and cared for them. The rest of the world may have hated him, but the fox didn’t care. He had all he needed.

At the end of each story, Scully would kiss William goodnight and turn off the light, but before she closed the door, William would say, “Mommy, I wish we had our own fox.”