Geoffrey

It was past midnight, and I was still awake. The house was quiet, of course, because even when I was awake very late, I was always quiet. The street was quiet too, and that was unsurprising. That’s why it didn’t make sense for me to suddenly get up and go to the window. Something outside caught my attention, but there had been no noise of any kind. I didn’t think so at the time, but later I wondered if I had “heard” something in my mind, something that gently nudged me, telling me to look out the window at the quiet street below.

I noticed right away that one of the streetlamps was out a few houses down from mine. I never liked the look of suburban streets without light. It made it so much easier for someone to lurk near houses and families and places they shouldn’t be. So I stared hard into the dark void between working streetlights, wondering what or who might be there now. I felt goosebumps rise on my arms as the idea that someone could be watching me from that void flashed through my mind. It frightened me, and I wanted to scurry over and turn off my bedroom light.

But I didn’t. I felt all at once that someone was watching me, holding my gaze from inside the small bit of darkness on my sleepy residential street, and I was surprised to find I was not afraid. In fact, I felt oddly compelled to put on shoes and a jacket, as it was chilly out, and make the short journey down the sidewalk to the broken streetlamp. I blinked at the unseen presence on the street, breathing slowly as I waited for the strange feeling to fade away.

I was still waiting when I realized that I had put my shoes on already. I stared at my feet. My hand drifted outward and grabbed my jacket, and it seemed like I was going outside whether I thought it was ridiculous or not.

“I’m meant to,” I heard myself breathe, and I don’t remember ever having intended to say those particular words. They were simply there.

My breath issued from my mouth and nose in wispy clouds as I shut the front door as softly as I could. There was a cold breeze, and I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jacket, wishing I knew what was happening. My feet moved of their own accord, carrying me closer to the streetlamp that didn’t work. I should have been anxious, afraid, confused—on the contrary, I felt calm, even safe.

I pulled my hand from my pocket to reach out and touch the metal pole with my fingertips. It wasn’t cold. I smiled without really knowing why. Then I felt the same someone watching me again, and my eyes turned toward the darkened street. I strained to adjust my vision to the night, and slowly the enormous white lump, which I had not noticed until that very moment, came into better focus.

He stood in the very center of the street on all fours, and had I been standing up very straight right next to him, my head would only just be level with his massive shoulder. The longer I looked right at him, the whiter he became, as though his luminous fur simply ignored the garish orange glow of all the other working streetlamps planted not too far from him. His black nose matched his two shining black eyes, and I watched as his mouth widened to reveal black lips. His expression allowed me to view the smallest hint of many white fangs hidden behind his soft smile, and I knew without thinking that that’s what it was—a smile.

“Hello,” he said, and his voice was deep and smooth, without flaws, like a black river moving slowly in winter when it is just beginning to freeze over. I was mildly alarmed then because I heard his voice out loud—it had echoed just a bit off the pavement all around us—but his mouth did not waver from the soft smile. The alarm passed as his small black eyes twinkled at me. It no longer seemed strange that his lips should not move, but his voice would be heard.

“Hello,” I said back to him, smiling shyly. He was quite large, after all.

I waited for him to speak again, secretly longing to hear the sound of his voice once more, but he said nothing, just smiled.

“Who are you?” I asked, sounding to myself like a small child, innocently curious and infinitely accepting.

“I am Geoffrey,” he replied, lifting a massive, clawed paw to take a step toward me.

“Jeffrey?” I said, wanting say the name out loud, just to be sure it was real.

He did something then that I will remember until I die. He widened his smile, showing even more teeth, closed his eyes, and laughed. The laughter bubbled up from inside him, and it was at once comforting and awe-inspiring. I felt warmer inside as he continued to chuckle softly to himself, and I sensed his amusement and also his deep affection for me. I felt reality gnawing at me for a moment, and I was terribly confused. I was standing in the street in the middle of the night, listening to beautiful, unearthly laughter from a being who had no business being in the middle of suburbia.

But then he opened his eyes to look at me, and the unsettling feelings faded into the background again.

“Why are you laughing?” I asked, smiling more openly now.

“We are never called Jeffrey,” he said, stepping closer to me, his great bulk moving with a grace I could not have imagined. “We have always thought Geoffrey to be a much more beautiful name. If you listen closely, you may hear the musical sound of the G, the E, and the O.”

“Geoffrey,” I said to myself, comprehension dawning on me.

“Yes,” he said, and I felt his warm pride in his name, and in me for understanding it.

He was very close now, and I reached out to stroke his pure, white muzzle. He closed his eyes again, and a contented rumble, almost like a cat’s purr, issued from his throat. His fur was warm and soft, and I wanted to throw my arms around him and hold on.

Curiosity took hold of me once more, and I let my hand fall away. “How did you get here?”

He blinked slowly at me and cocked his head to one side, as though he did not understand the question. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you here, Geoffrey?”

He looked at me for a long time with a mildly surprised expression, as though I ought to have known the answer and it was strange to him that I did not.

I wanted to say something, but there weren’t any words that seemed right. Geoffrey moved forward until he could have rested his chin on my shoulder, and then he shifted his seemingly weightless body backward until he was on his haunches. He towered over me, and with his two huge front paws, he reached out. With a gentleness that made my heart ache, he pulled me close to him until my face was buried in the soft white fur of his belly. He was so big that I could never have put my arms all the way around him, so I clutched at what part of him I could. He put one paw protectively on my back, and I could hear his strong heart beating beneath all that perfect fur.

“I am here because you needed me,” he finally said in a voice so heavy with compassion that I felt my throat close up and my eyes burn with tears.

I sobbed into his warm fur, and he hummed a mellow tune I didn’t know with his voice like a river. I cried and cried and didn’t care that none of this could really be happening, because a giant, kindly polar bear named Geoffrey was hugging me and telling me that everything would be alright, and I wanted to believe him.