#ag90

Dec danced in his mind a bit, trying to conjure some anecdote that would convince Harra the Hutt that he was a friend. He’d thought that just by filling the air he might soothe her into comradeship. He’d have to dig deeper. “Ques folk are the kindest in the galaxy,” Dec said. “Still, much as we’re always in one another’s business doesn’t mean we know everything about each other, does it? Came a time I realized I wasn’t quite like the other kids I knew. Being honest, feels like I always reckoned as much, only I didn’t quite have the wherewithal to put it into real thoughts until this time.” He sighed deeply. He’d never told anyone this story. He wasn’t embarrassed by it; it all just seemed unbelievable to him. That he had been the kid in the story—so unsure of himself. It wasn’t Dec as he presently knew himself. “When I started ruminatin’ on this,” he continued, “I sorta stopped doing all the things that I’d been doing—runnin’ around the swamp with the other kids, wreakin’ havoc and gettin’ in trouble; I stopped showin’ up to Teacher’s reading and numbers classes and for grabbin’ up woodward eels with my pals at suns-up. Just spent time by myself, ruminating, as I said. Floatin’ out on a raft, figuring that the others would cast me out anyways, so I might as well do it myself.” Harra the Hutt listened with interest, trying to tent her fingers but failing because of her girth and stubby arms. “You like stories about folks being sad?” Dec chided. Harra was taken aback. “No!” she cried. “But I think you didn’t stay sad, so I’m curious to hear how you worked your way out of it.” “Aw, I ain’t worked a day in my life,” Dec joked. “But while I was down in the doldrums thinkin’ about how everyone was gonna hate me—me! Can you even imagine someone hatin’ me?” Harra shook her head. She was hooked on Dec’s charms. “Well, I could think of it. And it was all I could think of. If the Ques folk found out I was different from them, then they would hate me. Or so I thought. And I also thought that I was just stewin’ in my sadness and no one was takin’ notice. ’Course, that wasn’t true. My brother, Aygee, noticed. ’Cause my brother and me, we always did everything together. So when I stopped doing everything, with or without him, he told me he wouldn’t stand for it. ‘Enough is enough,’ he told me. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He just said, ‘We always done everything together, and if you’re gonna go about feelin’ bad for yourself, we’re gonna do that together, too.’ Thereafter, he came with me on my lonesome jaunts through the bogs, both of us feelin’ bad for me. “Sooner or later, as I suspected Aygee knew I would, I started talking to him about what got me so dragged-down feelin’. And once I told him, he said to me the smartest thing I ever heard anyone—person, droid, or other—say. He told me, ‘Just because you’re not the same as everyone doesn’t mean you’re not normal.’” Harra the Hutt let out a thick purr that seemed to take her off guard. “Makes sense, don’t it?” Dec asked her. She nodded minutely. “Just ’cause you’re not the same as everyone doesn’t mean you’re not normal. How a monster-droid came up with something so clever is beyond me, but Aygee always was the one with brains in the family. But can I tell you somethin’, Harra?” She motioned for him to go on. “It wasn’t just the words that comforted me. It was that, even after I told him the thing I was so afraid of, the thing that made me different from everyone else, he didn’t leap into that mucky swamp and paddle away fast as he could. He kept on comin’ out on the raft with me and sitting in silence or yakkin’ about who-knows-what, nothin’ in particular. And yakkin’ with Aygee made it easier to do the same with my folks, who also didn’t care about what I thought made me so different. They just loved me, same as they always did. And talking to Mom and Pops made talkin’ to the other kids easier, and then the neighbors, and even that woman downriver who, when I told her about myself, just said, ‘I don’t give two cares about any silly boy from upriver! Go gather me some dry sticks so’s I can make a fire and make my dinner, dum-dum!’ I’ll never forget her wisdom. “Anyway,” Dec finished, stretching his arms over his head, “that’s my story.”

Hailing from North West London, streetwear brand AG90 (ArmsGang; Anything Goes), are fighting to grab the attention of the new generation by creating masterpieces of art in the form of clothing.