Last Friday night, Mr. Boulevard entered our room all stumbling and out of breath and I wondered if he was running away from something. He easily could not have been. It was hard to tell when he was always breathing heavily, humping and exhaling as loud as Mrs. Pregnant Weasley. That was her real name, Alex told me, but we were not to call her by that when she was around. Mrs. P made the softest mashed potatoes on Thursdays and all the kids loved her. I loved Mrs. P because she was magic and always carried a child in her belly, like a kangaroo. I wished I was a fat magical kangaroo, so I too could give the softest, roundest hugs. Mr. Boulevard was also fat; he was really fat but he was not a hugger. Alex said that when Mr. B would fall off his bed while sleeping, his downstair neighbors got an earthquake fright. I gave Mr. B my stuffed sloth so he wouldn’t fall off his bed anymore. He tucked me in bed, every night after that.

Mr. B had loud hair, the hair you’d find on a Disney Princess like Brave. Fierce, fiery red with a red moustache, red eyebrows, and strikingly red eyelashes. He was a furry red bear. He’d be scary, the nightmare of kids’ dreams if he wasn’t an angel. He had the nicest of manners, he’d even talk with his head bowed to not scare us, kids.

Every night when he tucked me in, he’d softly tell me the most fantastical stories. He told me once that growing up, he was a lonely kid which turned him into a shy n quiet man. He asked me to be loud and curious because I would never be lonely with him as my Guardian Angel. Then he went on to tell me stories of Guardian Angels that watched over kids like me, kids with a very big family and I all but forgot to ask him what ‘lonely’ meant.

Mr. B had big eyes, the kind you’d find popping out of a snail’s head. They seemed to be bouncing out of his eye sockets when he moved heavily. He always moved heavily. His nose was a tiny little thing, next to his round belly and it always made me giggle. A nose so tiny, it was squeezed tight between his bouncy cheeks. I wondered if that was why he needed to breathe so loudly. His lips were huge, plump, and pink; both of the same size. When he opened his mouth, kids at the orphanage feared he’d devour them. But Mr. Boulevard would never do such a thing. He simply couldn’t, even though nobody could tell.

Mr. Bear, as the kids called him, wore loose clothes, hanging off his enormous body. He had them tailored personally. He’d wear blues on Mondays and Tuesdays. Reds through Wednesday to Friday, even though the reds would wash his face out. And on the weekends, he’d wear the yellows. He was rather strict about his color-coded outfits. Mr. B lived in Primary Colors, and I loved to draw him for our art schoolwork. With his baggy shorts and baggy shirts, he was like a colorful boulder that you wouldn’t want to be run over by. But Mr. Boulevard would never run you over. He simply couldn’t, even though nobody could tell.

Last Friday was the last I saw of Mr. B. When I asked Mrs. P when he was coming back, she smiled a smile that only spread to her lips. I realized it was another grown-up thing since I always smiled with my eyes going all crinkly. I wanted to grow up hurriedly then, so I too could learn a new way to smile.

‘My boy, you know how JoJo was sad one day, so he went to live on the happy farm upstate?’ she said. 

I perked up at JoJo’s mention and nodded. He was our family dog and very loved.

She continued, ‘Mr. B has gone to live with JoJo.’

‘Was JoJo lonely?’

‘If he was, he isn’t anymore.’ She smiled and I ran to the big room where I kept my red, yellow and blue paints.

I wanted to draw a picture of JoJo and Mr. B, hugging and not being lonely together.