Carl and The Cloud

Carl is a creative first grader who loves ideas. He has an imagination that generates ideas at lightning speed, but Carl is not just partial to his own ideas. He will happily listen to others’ ideas and incorporate them into creative tag games or just goof around on the playground.   

One of his favorite parts of first grade is the after-lunch creative time to write stories. His mind fills with ideas so fast his hand can’t keep up. His sentences are new idea after new idea; his brain goes into overdrive. It is hard to finish one story when so many good ideas keep popping into his head. 

At the end of class, when all the other children were handing in finished stories, some with a picture drawn to go with it, Carl would reluctantly hand in his paper. 

His teacher would smile. “Lots of ideas, Carl?” He would enthusiastically nod, and the ideas would continue all the way home like thought bubbles popping in his head. 

Even at play, his mind would tuck away fragmented thoughts, waiting for a moment when they could spring to life.

At night, Carl’s brain was very active, sorting through and cataloging the day’s ideas. The activity created fun and rich dreams, to the point that Carl could be heard laughing in his sleep at times.  Prompting Clancy, his Basset Hound, to sleepily lick his cheek, hoping to be let in on the fun. When no other sounds came out, Clancy scooted his back against Carl and returned to his dreams of endless ear rubs and treats. 

 One night, as one of Carl’s brain’s librarians, Hazel, struggled to close one of the drawers in a file cabinet. After many attempts to close the overstuffed drawer, she turned around, attempting to back herself up to it, and almost had it closed. But the drawer fought back, flinging her across the entire library of Carl’s Brain. A cascading effect happened with all the drawers in the cabinet; they recoiled into the cabinet for a moment, then punched out, and papers with half-finished ideas for stories, pictures, and playtime flew into the air. All the other library file clerks, in unison, looked up and froze into place, watching the papers slowly float down from the ceiling like snowflakes. 

A buzzing sound was now going off in the memory section of Carl’s brain. Central intelligence will have to be notified; Carl’s brain library has run out of room. As the librarians scurried to clean up the mess and organize the ideas for re-filing, the solution came back. External storage will be incorporated until Carl makes decisions about some of these ideas. The librarians sighed; their shoulders slumped, they continued cleaning up. 

For a moment in his sleep, Carl made an odd sound, not a cry of despair but not a giggle either. Clancy sensed it, reached out his short-legged paw to Carl’s arm, and nuzzled closer to Carl to let him know he was there. 

Carl, still asleep, rolled on his side towards his best friend, wrapped an arm around him, and moved in close for the first time ever in his 6 years. Clancy’s eyes opened. Something had changed, but he wasn’t complaining. He loved cuddles and the extra warmth. He sleepily noted to be more observant of any changes in his best friend.     

The morning activity of getting ready for school didn’t change. Clancy was still tired, and after stepping on his own ears twice, he decided to curl up in the corner of the kitchen, watching Carl closely. He still sensed that something had changed, but so far, he could not see anything different.

Carl, happy to go to school and see his friends, bounded out of the car, then, as he turned at the school gate to wave goodbye, Clancy saw something as Carl stepped into a patch of sunlight. Clancy started barking, Carl laughed, and then ran to join his friends as his mom pulled away from the curb. Clancy’s barking increased, and if he had longer legs, he would have jumped in the back of the SUV to get a better look at Carl. 

Mom looked in the rearview mirror and, in a low, toned voice, dragged out his name: Cllaaaannncy.  Clancy stopped, looked in her direction, and plopped down on the seat, letting out the huff of a frustrated dog.  

Carl’s day continued as it always did, with kids playing, imagination soaring, and new ideas popping into Carl’s head. The principal was one who genuinely liked kids and seeing their imagination come to life on the playground. He was often found on the playground at recess and lunch. A couple of tosses of the football to get kids engaged, maybe a creative tag game here, then step back to supervise. 

As he stood back to watch the kids play, he noticed a glint of sunshine bounce into his wise blue eyes off of Carl.  He looked closer, his eyes glowed for a moment, then settled back and made a mental note.  

By the end of the week, most of the faculty had noticed that Carl had something going on around his head. A couple of kids who were as creative as Carl noticed sparks of light when Carl was talking fast with new ideas. 

Clancy, ever the loyal dog, was sounding the alarm when he was around Carl. No one paid attention; his efforts were met with frustration. When Carl got on the floor to play with Clancy, the dog would often try to climb onto his head, then bat at the air about Carl’s head with his paws.  

At first, Mom would come over and look closely at Carl’s head, worried he might have contracted every parent’s nightmare, lice. For a couple of weeks, extra showers, careful hair washing, and combing were incorporated into bedtime routines to be safe.  

But this didn’t seem to bother Carl; he used the time to share his day and create new creatures like bubble monsters.  He and his parents would all contribute to his imagination and finish a story.  

One night, as they worked through a particularly hard but satisfying ending to the bubble monster’s fight against the drain, Carl said, “My head feels lighter.”   His parents laughed and agreed that the story had taken all of them to finish.  

Clancy rolled his eyes and shook his head, his ears flapping against his head. Still, he took up his position on the bed, but now Clancy had started to demand to sleep on or near Carl’s head. Since Lice watch was over, bedtime went back to a little conversation and then a storybook. 

In the middle of the night, Clancy was awakened by something pushing on his belly. He thought it was Carl trying to get him off his head, but it wasn’t. Clancy couldn’t see it, but he had an idea.  Carl had made that same sound from before, not despair, but not giggly either. Clancy moved to lie next to Carl, and once again Carl turned on his side and put an arm around Clancy.  

That morning, Carl’s mom kept looking at him oddly. Clancy from his observational corner noticed and barked. She looked at him, stepped over to where he was, and looked at her son. Carl, feeling her gaze, looked up and smiled. “Is Clancy okay?” He asked her.  

“Oh yes, of course, just thought he needed a little attention,” she reassured her son while petting Clancy’s head.  Clancy gave her his infamous judgmental side eye. If dogs could talk.  

That day at recess was the moment. Everyone was enjoying a creative game of tag that Carl had thought up, and others had excitedly interrupted with their ideas. Carl, as usual, took in all the ideas and started playing and fixing as they went, ideas flowing one replacing another. His mind, collecting all the ideas as they played.

The principal heard it first. A child’s voice trailed off, “What is tha…,” then abruptly stopped as fast as it started. The other kids looked at her, and she shook her head. “Nothing, I thought I saw something on Carl’s head.“ 

Everyone looked, the Principal deliberately staying back to observe.  Then left and headed to the Teacher’s room.

That afternoon, during creative writing, the teacher called Carl over to a table to sit with her. “Carl, I started a paper for each of your ideas, and I thought we could work on one story or sort through them first to see what ideas are worth keeping.” 

“Throw out an idea? What if you need it for the perfect game or story?” 

The teacher thought for a moment: “What if a better idea came to you, but you couldn’t keep it because your brain was too full?“ 

Carl’s eyes got big. 

“My brain can get too full?” He asked in wonderment. “I never thought of that.” 

They spent the afternoon sorting through the stack of papers. There was a good-sized stack of throwaways. Carl held them. He sat for a moment, a little worried about throwing out all these ideas.  

“It’s hard to let go, isn’t it?” His teacher acknowledged.

Carl nodded.  

“Do you want to go through them again?”  

“No. I thought about each one. I am ready to let them go,” he said, and dropped them into the wastebasket.  

The teacher acknowledged how much work that was; her brain felt tired, too. 

Carl took a moment. “My brain feels faster.”  

His teacher smiled, “You did good work today. Let’s clean up to go home.” 

Carl was quiet, but his mind was going a mile a minute as he put his chair on the table and gathered his things from his cubby.  He continued generating idea after idea throughout the afternoon and into dinner. 

“A penny for your thoughts?” His mother asked after watching her son push food around his plate.  

“My mind is racing.” Carl just barely got out.

“A lot of ideas, or just one?” she asked, looking him over. 

Carl breathed in, his fork, finishing the mashed potato mountain. Finally, in one quick breath, “Can you really lose brain space if you don’t clear out your ideas?” Carl asked.

His dad caught his eye for a moment. “It’s a lot for a brain to sort and catalog,” 

The Brain librarians were ducking and diving under the desk as the ideas bounced off the walls that night. I have not seen them come in this fast in a long time, said one librarian.  Well, at least we have room to put them once we catch them, said Hazel. Still feeling pain from that file cabinet disaster. She was put on desk duty in charge of sending new thoughts to the external storage.  Tonight, it was a steady stream. 

The next morning, Clancy sat on the bed, one eye open, tracking Carl, slowly waking up. Clancy’s belly was poked again last night, and he was alert for most of the night.  He followed Carl to the kitchen, not really looking up, just trying not to step on his own ears again. After settling into his corner to observe, he saw it and let out a series of warning barks. He was not going to stop until someone noticed.  Carl looked at him and around the kitchen. Mom came over and saw what Clancy was barking about. 

Carl had a small cloud over his head. 

Her face was a mixture of shock and curiosity. She absently reached out to touch the cloud. Carl saw her hand coming towards him and tried to duck out of the way, but couldn’t. 

“What is this?” She said absent-mindedly out loud. 

Carl was worried now, he ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror, and he saw it too, a small white fluffy cloud. He immediately had ideas for a story, and the cloud suddenly looked bigger. 

Being the curious kid he was, he touched it and tried to squish it. He giggled at the thought of squishing it between his fingers like slime. Then he thought about making shapes with it, to illustrate his stories. It grew a little more. He yelled to his mom, “I think it’s growing.”   

His mother was trying to compose herself and take cues from Carl on how he was handling it, but she was worried. Clancy went and sat by Carl. The cloud had grown a lot. Clancy leaned against Carl’s leg, reminding the boy of his support, and waited. 

“I am going to call the school and have you excused.” 

Carl said, “No!” he thought it was interesting. 

She tried to warn him that some kids might be scared or say something unkind.  

He laughed. “I think it’s funny. I want to go to school.” Carl said.  

“Can you shrink it too? Curiosity was edging out her worry.  

He looked in the mirror and thought really hard, his face turning red. Sprays of fireworks started popping off from the cloud. The cloud had puffed up, and then, when the last explosion went off, the cloud shrank.

Carl and his mom’s eyes met in the mirror. Silence, and then they giggled. 

“That is amazing, kid!” 

Clancy did not share that sentiment and trotted off to his safe corner.  They watched him go, ears swinging, disapproval in every swing. 

They both laughed again. 

“What else can you do?” 

“I don’t know. What should I do?” 

“If you think of something sad, does it rain?” His mother wondered

“I can’t think of anything sad; all that comes to mind is running through sprinklers in summer.” He thought of the splash of a cannonball jump into a pool, and slowly, drops of water began to fall on his head. 

In awe, his mother handed him a towel to dry his hair.

“Are you sure you want to go today?”

Carl nodded. Then smiled, “Maybe Penelope will make it rain purple.” They both smiled. 

His mother parked the car and walked in with him. He ran off to find his friends while she stayed back in the cool morning shade of the building’s overhang.  Not too close to intrude but close enough to hear the voices, and she braced herself.

He joined his friends and immediately started coming up with ideas. This time, she saw the cloud expand. They were talking about getting colored chalk, and the cloud changed colors.  A few kids pointed to it and asked what it was. 

Carl shrugged, “I don’t know, but it changes, and that makes me laugh.” He said, “Watch,” and recreated the fireworks. OOhs and awes escaped their mouths, and then they clapped.   

The principal had quietly walked up to her, enjoying Carl’s fireworks.  

His wise blue eyes seemed to sparkle a bit when he asked how she was handling all this. 

Carl’s Mom slowly shook her head. “I don’t know what it is, yet I find myself worried and curious at the same time. It is impressive what he can do with it.”  

The principal chuckled, “Yes indeed!”  

Carl’s mom glanced at the principal. “I was worried about how the kids would react and treat him.” 

“That is understandable, but these kids are accustomed to experiencing the extraordinary.” The principal said quietly.

Carl’s mom looked at him, waiting for more explanation, but none was coming. Finally, she said, “What is it, and how does he manage it?” 

The Principal, in a dry matter-of-fact tone, said, “It’s cloud storage.” 

The mother turned and looked at him, unsure whether he was serious or making an ill-timed joke.  

The principal continued, “His brain is overflowing with ideas; he just needs to do a little housekeeping. 

“Housekeeping?” Her brows furrowed.

The principal continued,  “We can help him with his stories, but if I remember, don’t you have a Bassett Hound? Those ears are meant to listen. “

Carl’s mother thought for a moment, then gave a sly smile. “I  thought basset hounds only solved crime stories.”

The Principal smirked, “They do that too.”  

She smiled and nodded her head. 

Right then, a chorus of children let out a loud “Cool!” The cloud had started to snow on Carl’s head.  A few of the kids reached out to grab a snowflake, giggling with joy. 

The bell rang. Carl ran to give his mom a hug and whispered, “I told you it would be okay.” 

She kissed his forehead, her head bumping into the cloud. “Did that hurt?” she asked him. 

He smiled, “Nope!” and ran off towards his classroom. 

The Principal walked her to the gate and suggested she bring Clancy at pick up. “I have a feeling he will have a ton of thoughts.” The mom nodded and headed to the car, but not before pulling out her phone and calling Carl’s Dad.  

She told him everything that had happened that morning since he left the house. He listened quietly. 

Finally, he spoke. “Yeah… that’s why I wanted Clancy. Bernie, our basset hound, used to listen to me for hours.” He chuckled. “They are built for the job.”

“You sound like quite a pair.” She laughed.

Carl’s Dad laughed. “Hopefully, Carl and Clancy will be one too.” 

At pick up, Clancy howled for the first time when he saw Carl heading to the car. His tail, frantically wagging. Carl had a big smile, opened the door, “Hey, boy! “ Clancy backed up to let him in, then eagerly sat on his lap, trying to lick his face.  

“How was your day, Carl?” 

Carl excitedly talked about completing a story for the first time and how afterward his mind seemed to work faster.  “My mind is buzzing.”

Carl’s mom looked in the rearview mirror at his head. The cloud was a little smaller, but she could see electric currents lighting up around it.  

“I would like to hear your ideas. I think even Clancy would be interested.” The dog nuzzled his nose under Carl’s chin in agreement as Carl gently rubbed his long, soft ears. 

Carl’s ideas spilled out of his mind as he spoke. Clancy felt things dropping on his back, then turned to look at Carl’s shoulders. The cloud was dropping shapes, numbers, purple poppies, and crazy, half-thought-out monsters. Clancy popped up to Carl’s shoulder, his ears absorbing all the ideas dropping out of the cloud. The cloud slightly shrank. 

Carl and Clancy spent the afternoon lying on the couch together, Carl talking and Clancy’s ears absorbing the ideas. 

That night, a new routine was put in place; the family went for a walk after dinner, with Clancy sniffing ahead of them. Carl mentioned that Clancy wasn’t stepping on his ears as much. “Did they get shorter?” Mom and Dad just exchanged smiles. 

At bedtime, his parents read to him and then encouraged him to share any lingering ideas with Clancy before he fell asleep. The dog took up his position around Carl’s head, one ear covering the top of his head.  Clancy thought, Took you long enough! and huffed through his nose. The dad caught the attitude and patted his head. “I know Clancy,” he said so quietly, only the dog heard it. Clancy let out another snort, humans!

The Dad sighed.  

Carl fell asleep pretty fast. He was exhausted.

That night, Carl’s brain’s librarians sat exhausted in their chairs. Hazel, still recuperating after the file drawer attack, was happy to have room again. It had been a busy week, with a lot of deleting. The monster vault was almost empty; filing time had been drastically reduced; the desks no longer had towering stacks. Fragmented ideas no longer hung from the stair railings and bookshelves.   

A meeting was called; if discarding continues at these rates, external storage could be removed in a few days. Everyone cheered. The Librarians didn’t like needing extra storage; it made them feel they weren’t efficient enough in their jobs, despite being told otherwise. They enjoyed their night and danced a little in all the space until they heard a giggle escape a sleeping Carl. They all scrambled back to work.   

Carl’s mom was standing at the door watching him and heard the giggle. Her shoulders relaxed a little; the giggle made her happy.  

His Dad put an arm around her. “Will he always need a Clancy to help him?” 

The Dad smiled. “He is learning how to manage his thoughts; that is half the battle. As for needing a Clancy,” the dog held his breath waiting for that answer. “Why wouldn’t you want a Clancy regardless?” The dad glanced back toward the pillow. 

Mom laughed, “True!”  

A low noise came from the pillow; Clancy agreed.