The Worry with a Pocket-Sized Chair

Then a little blue scribble went loop-the-loop and danced through the air in soft ribbons of blue. It tangled her fingers and sat on her shoes. “I don’t want to go,” Mina said.

“It isn’t the kites. It isn’t Noor’s garden. I don’t know what it’s here for. It’s a wobble inside that has visited me when things have felt different before.”

High on the shelf, where they waited till needed, two friends had been perfectly still. But Pip jumped up. “I can fix this!” he cried. Ponder said, “Perhaps listening will.”

They sat on the rug with the scribble between them. Ponder brought his notebook and pen. “Little blue wobble, who are you?” he asked. “I’m Worry. I come when things change now and then.”

They found a small chair with a round yellow cushion and one leg that wobbled a bit. “Sit here, little Worry. Tell us what scares you. There’s room on the cushion. Please sit.”

“New faces,” said Worry. “New games. And what if no one asks Mina to play?” “Thank you,” said Ponder. “That’s honest and helpful.” He wrote all of Worry’s words down that day.

Mina went down to the kitchen. “Mama, there’s something I need you to know.” Mama sat on the floor right beside her. “I’m listening, Mina. Go slow.”

“Tell me the shape of it.” “Blue,” Mina said, “all loops and small knots, like tangles of thread.

It’s scared to step into the party, you see, with new games and new children all waiting for me.” “Then Worry can come,” said Mama. “With us. If you need us to stop, we’ll stop. No fuss.”

Then Pip gave a hop. “One little try? Not the whole party—just three.” He opened his blue pocket, ready for plans, and Mina drew what they would be:

“Hold Mama’s hand. Give Noor one wave. Watch one bright kite climb through the air.” Mina’s breath hurried in, then floated out slowly. Worry breathed too. It shrank—but stayed there.

At last they set off, with Mama close by and Pip hop-walking beside. Ponder came too. In the pocket for plans, Worry rode with a mint at its side.

“You may come. You may watch. You may whisper to me if the party feels busy or loud. But I choose our steps, and I choose where we go.” Ponder smiled, quietly proud.

Noor waved both hands like two bright kite tails that danced high over the gate. Mina squeezed Mama’s fingers. Worry wobbled. Noor smiled and was happy to wait.

“Hello,” breathed Mina. “Hello,” whispered Noor. Pip bowed till his ears brushed the ground. One hello was plenty for one brave first minute. Then, side by side, they looked around.

Noor needed a helper to hold the red ribbons while she knotted each bright tail. Mina held one. Then another felt easy. Then—zing!—flew the yellow kite’s sail.

From Mina’s pocket, Worry peeped at the sky, no bigger now than a pea. “Not the whole party,” Mina told Pip. “Just the piece of the sky that fits me.”

Back home, little Worry curled like a comma on its chair by Mina’s bed. “You listened,” it whispered. “I didn’t need shouting. You heard me the first time instead.”

Ponder wrote one last line and closed up his book. Pip climbed with the ribbon of red. Ponder followed him back to the shelf. The small chair stayed by the bed.

Worry was quiet. Worry was small. “There was room for it all,” Mina said.