When Simon Baker heard his mom and Jeremy fighting, he chose to run to his friend’s house instead. They were having grown up talk and it sounded serious. Simon couldn’t understand the big words, but he could always understand what Patrick, his neighbor, said.

He had taken off down the street skipping happily, ready to see his friend.

Simon saw people in the street screaming and yelling but he didn’t understand why they were all so angry. He sped up his steps, he hated being around angry people.

He got to Patrick’s house and knocked on the front door like he had done so many times previous. His mom usually accompanied him, so he was proud he was able to do it by himself.

No one answered the door though. Was he doing it wrong?

He tried again, a little firmer with his delicate fist. Still, no one answered.

Simon looked around the house and didn’t see anyone around. He was confused. This was their house, where else would they be?

Ah! Groceries. Sometimes Simon and his mother left their house for groceries. They were never gone long though.

Deciding his friend had just run down to the local market, Simon opted to play in the backyard while he waited.

He bounded down to the little play area in the back of the house. His smile took up half his face and his curls bounced with just as much happiness as his little feet.

Many toys were left out in the yard, which only served to improve Simon’s mood as he scooped up a bunch of trucks and began bashing them together. He was in the middle of attacking the red truck with the green one when he saw the treehouse out of the corner of his eye.

He and Patrick had always been told not to go up there if there were no adults. But, it looked like so much fun. Plus, Simon was a big boy now, he could do it.

He bravely approached the steps and put his foot on the first step. He clutched the hand rail as tightly as he could.

His smile grew. Simon stepped up to the second step. Again, no problems.

“Mommy, look!” he yelled.

But, Simon’s mother wasn’t there. He had forgotten he was alone. Oh well, he’d show her later what he could do. He knew she’d be proud.

Simon pushed on. Little by little he overcame the seven steps leading to the tree house. What felt like a mountain to him, was barely six feet off the ground, but he was proud of his achievement.

As he reached the top step, he twisted the handle of the little door. It slid open with ease. At this, Simon clapped his hands and stomped his feet. He was completely elated.

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He jumped in the room and glanced around at all the toys laying around. What would he play with first?

Legos. It had to be the big block Legos, there were no other toys that would bring him as much joy. So, with a colorful array of plastic blocks Simon got to work building a whole city.

When he was satisfied with his massive, multicolored buildings, he did what any small boy would do. He destroyed them all. He pretended to be a monster, smashing into all the pieces and sending pieces scattering across the wooden floor.

Again, his smile grew.

After a while though, the Legos got boring. In the corner of his eye, he saw crayons and a big stack of paper.

He jumped over the mess he had made and grabbed a handful of crayons. He plopped down on the floor and began to draw.

First, a dragon, or at least that’s what Simon saw. Most other people would have seen a scribbly mess of green and back shapes with two red lines. Only Simon knew that it was clearly breathing fire.

Next, he drew his family. He drew a little stick figure boy, himself. He scribbled in brown hair and gave himself a green shirt. Then, his mom, a beautiful smile upon her circular head. She was wearing a purple dress. His mom always loved purple. Lastly, he drew his father. Chaotic little lines etched across the man’s face served as a beard. He was much larger than Simon and his mother and he wore black clothing.

Simon didn’t remember much about his father. His mother had told him he was in a place that helped bad people get better. Simon didn’t know what that meant, but he knew he missed his father. He used to play with him and read stories to him every night.

Simon looked at the picture, content with his progress.

Now came the big mission, writing. He jotted down ‘Simon’ with a backwards ‘s.’ ‘Mommy’ took him the longest as all the humps of the ‘m’s confused him greatly. The final word, ‘Daddy’ was written as “Dabby,’ but Simon thought it was all correct.

He was overjoyed with his beautiful picture. He couldn’t wait to show Patrick and his mother. Just thinking of them reminded him he was still alone. He glanced around the room just to double check. Yes. He was still alone.

Bored of being alone, he took his picture and trotted back down the steps carefully. It took him a few minutes, but he managed without falling once. It was a success.

He sprang toward the main door of his friend’s house, surely they’d be back from shopping by now. Once more he knocked on the door.

This time someone answered. His mother.

“Simon!” She screamed and grabbed his body with haste. She squeezed the little toddler tightly. “Where have you been?”

“Pway in da dree house!” Simon responded happily.

His mother chuckled as more tears careened down her cheeks.

She pulled back to look at him, she lifted his arms and checked his back, checking for injuries. Once she was satisfied that he was perfectly healthy, she finally took a breath.

“Baby, you scared me.”

“Sowwie, mommy,” Simon looked down, ashamed.

“It’s okay, baby. Let’s get going though.”

“I wanna pway with Patwick,” the little boy cheered. “And show him my dwawing.” He held the picture up in front of his mom.

She looked it over with an overwhelming pride. “Baby, this is beautiful.”

“Dat’s me, and dat you. Dis is daddy.” Simon pointed out who each of the three humans in the picture were.

“Oh, this is your daddy?” His mother asked. “We call him Ace, baby, not daddy.”

“Ace,” Simon copied his mother.

“That’s right. Now, we gotta get going, we’ll come see Patrick another day.”

She took Simon’s hand and pulled him out of the house. They started the short walk back to their home.

“Ace, Ace, Ace,” the little boy chanted in a singsong voice, stopping suddenly when he was distracted.

“Mommy, look! A plane!” Simon cheered as he pointed to the skies above.

His mother glanced up and all the color drained from her face. It was a red plane, one she’d been warned to take cover from. She grabbed Simon in her arms and held him close to her chest and she sprinted to their home.

She reached the door, just in time to see the plane drop a bomb.