Wally Darling

Evening had settled quietly over the Neighborhood. The last traces of daylight had faded from the sky, leaving the streets washed in deep blue and soft shadows. Most of the windows were glowing warmly now, and here and there a few familiar sounds drifted through the stillness—the distant creak of a door, the faint rustling of leaves, the occasional murmur of one of the neighbors finishing up for the night.

Inside Home, everything was quiet.

Wally sat in his little chair beside the telephone, his small feet not quite reaching the floor. The warm light of the room fell softly across his yellow face and blue pompadour. He had already finished his evening routine, and there was nowhere else he particularly needed to be. The Neighborhood was settling down, and Wally had decided it was time for his favorite part of the evening. Calling Barnaby.

He liked calling his friends before going to bed. Sometimes they talked for a long time. Sometimes they barely said anything at all. It didn't seem to matter to Wally. He simply liked hearing someone on the other end of the telephone.

He reached for the receiver with both hands. It was a little too large for him, as usual, and he had to hold it carefully against his ear. With one finger, he dialed the number he believed belonged to Barnaby.

The telephone rang. Wally waited patiently, his feet beginning to swing back and forth beneath the chair. When the line finally connected, he spoke in his soft, slow voice.

"Hello?"

He waited.

"...Barnaby?"

Silence. Wally tilted his head slightly. Perhaps Barnaby had not heard him.

"Barnaby."

He waited again, listening quietly to the other end of the line. He didn't seem concerned or confused. As far as Wally knew, he had called the right number.

"...Are you there?"

He settled back into his chair and continued to wait, the receiver held carefully in both hands. After all, Barnaby would answer eventually.

The evening was unusually still inside Home. A small lamp cast a warm pool of light across the room, illuminating a half-finished drawing that Wally had left on the table. He sat nearby, quietly studying it with his chin resting in one hand, apparently trying to decide whether the apple he had drawn looked sufficiently like an apple.

Then the telephone rang. Wally's eyes shifted toward it.

He remained still for a moment, listening to the ringing echo through the quiet room. Then he slowly climbed down from his chair and made his way over to the telephone. The receiver was far too large for him, so he lifted it with both hands and held it carefully against his ear.

"Hello?"

He waited.

There was no immediate answer.

Wally blinked once and looked at the telephone as though this might somehow explain the silence.

"...Hello?"

He listened again, perfectly patient. Perhaps whoever was on the other end simply needed a little more time. Wally sat down beside the telephone, still holding the receiver with both hands, and waited.