Free Imperfect Spiral by Debbie Levy

and painting easel that Humphrey’s daddy set up in the basement,” Mrs. Danker said. “Maybe Humphrey will want to do some painting after he gets tired of drawing.”
    â€œI never get tired of drawing!” Humphrey said.
    The completed drawings were spread out on the kitchen table. They were all in pencil and colored pencil; no crayons. Some of them resembled—roughly—architectural or engineering drawings; others looked more like maps with lots of landmarks.
    â€œWow, Humpty Dumpty,” I said. “These look cool. Want to tell me about them?”
    â€œWait,” he murmured, barely audible, not looking upfrom the sheet in front of him. “I’m in the middle of a very important …” He trailed off, his pencil moving furiously.
    After a minute or two, Humphrey sighed heavily. “It’s getting harder,” he said, still not looking up.
    â€œWant to show me?” I asked.
    â€œNo! I want to crumple it up and throw it away. I want to throw them all away!” But he didn’t.
    â€œMaybe you just need a break,” I said. “Every artist needs a break sometimes.”
    â€œI’m not an artist,” Humphrey said. “These aren’t pictures. They’re drawings. They’re supposed to be for inventions. Inventions for space exploration.”
    â€œShow me.”
    He was too busy.
    â€œDo the space-cars park outside?” Humphrey said, bending over the papers. “But then how do the people get inside? Or do they drive right into the space station, like into a garage? But then it has to be so giant. That’s not how it would be in real life. A space station can’t be so huge. But then why’d I draw all these space-cars driving there? There’s no room for them. My ideas aren’t good! I hate this!”
    I had no experience with whining kids. A minute ago, he’d been all happy and excited:
We’re drawing! I love this!
Now, five minutes later—
I hate this!
    â€œBut these are amazing, Humphrey,” I said.
    â€œNo, they’re not,” he said. “They’re stupid.” He laid his head down on the table.
    â€œOnly if it’s Opposite Day,” I said. “If you catch my drift.”
    It was as if you could see the gears turning in Humphrey’s head. Opposite Day.
    â€œLook at the sun shining out there!” he said, pointing toward the window.
    â€œIt’s a beautiful day for playing outdoors,” I said.
    Pause. Gear shift. Then: “I got dressed as soon as I woke up this morning,” Humphrey said.
    â€œAnd look at me,” I countered. “I walked out of my house still in my pajamas.”
    â€œI had chicken for breakfast,” Humphrey said.
    Hmm. “Is that an opposite? I mean, what would be the opposite of that?”
    â€œI had chicken for dinner!” Humphrey said.
    â€œNot—I had cereal for breakfast?”
    Click, click went the gears. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope and seeing all the tiny shapes fall into place. Did all little kids have brains that were so—clickable?
    Humphrey agreed to get dressed. Afterward, in the kitchen again, he gave me a tour of his drawings. They most certainly were not just pictures, I agreed. They were designs for a wondrous exploration.
    â€œSo, is the idea to build a city on the moon,” I asked, “or to build a space-station city?”
    â€œSilly, that’s not the moon!” Humphrey said. “Do you think that looks like the moon?”
    â€œUh—yeah, no,” I said. Last week we’d agreed that “yeah,no” was the perfect thing to say when you didn’t know what to say.
    â€œIt’s Thrumble-Boo, silly!” Humphrey said.
    The rain didn’t let up. After a while, when I could tell Humphrey was running out of steam, I suggested a nap.
    â€œYou know I don’t take naps,” Humphrey said after we climbed the stairs.
    â€œHow