Monalito was a boy who carried the sun in his pocket. No matter where he went, his smile was bright enough to warm the coldest room. He loved the color yellow, he loved building towering cities out of wooden blocks, and more than anything, he loved to sing while he worked.
But on one particular Tuesday, the sun felt very far away. The hallway was loud, and the words spoken by a boy entirely too tall for his age hung in the air like a thick, gray cloud.
"You don't belong here," the tall boy had said, the words sharp and pointed. "You're too loud, and your shoes are weird."
Monalito looked down at his bright yellow sneakers. Suddenly, they didn't feel like sunshine anymore. They just felt heavy. He tucked his hands into his pockets, shrinking his shoulders down, trying to make himself as small as possible so the gray cloud wouldn't rain on him.
That's when he felt a gentle nudge against his knee. He looked down and found a wet nose pointing up at him, followed by a second, smaller nose peeking out from behind his ankle.
It was Hustle, the neighborhood stray who had unofficially adopted Monalito's street, and Finesse, the scrappy little pup who followed Hustle absolutely everywhere. They didn't have words, but their eyes spoke volumes. They sat right in the middle of that gray cloud with him.
Hustle didn't try to make Monalito laugh. He just sat. And sometimes, somebody who just stops and sits with you in the dark is exactly what you need to remember how to find the light switch.