For Doll Girl

He's brooding again.

It's easy to tell when he's upset- his face closes off and the light in his eyes goes dark. It reminds me of a thundercloud sitting on top of the sun, the chill wind that takes you by surprise on a summer day. He changes.

He was so happy earlier. He found something in the lagoon and came running to tell everyone, but as always his timing was off and he bumped into the Skipper and the Skipper swatted him on the head with his hat. I had been watching this by now predictable scenario and although I didn't realise I'd been holding my breath, I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs as they deflated. Something inside me shrank and went small as his shoulders slumped and the look on his face turned from joy to dismay. He and the Skipper have been friends for years, and I really think the Skipper ought to know better by now.

He doesn't mean to cause trouble, it just happens. To be blunt, he's a magnet for disaster.

I still remember the first day I saw him. He stood proudly on the foredeck of the Minnow with his feet planted apart, bristling with enthusiasm, energy crackling off of him in waves. I remember thinking how much he looked like a sailor, his white hat sitting jauntily on the back of his head with the brim flipped up. He had long legs like a newborn colt and he was just as uncoordinated and just as graceful. He'd trip and right himself in a matter of seconds, and he was always smiling.

That smile. That boyish, adorable smile. Broad and honest and exquisitely dimpled- a smile that makes you glad to be alive. The first time he smiled at me he broke off a piece of my heart and took it away with him and I don't think I will ever get it back.

He's brooding- and because he has a piece of my heart, I can feel how badly he hurts and I want to make it better.

He's sitting at the table picking at the fruit bowl, digging his fingernails into the skin of a ripe mango. I approach him cautiously. I've learned by now that you don't rush up to him or he skitters into the jungle.

"Hello, Gilligan," I venture, softly.

He looks up, and his blue/green eyes are clouded over. They flit towards mine but they don't connect.

"Hi," he mumbles.

I press on, undeterred.

"Tell me what you found in the lagoon."

He looks down at the mutilated mango, at the yellow flesh embedded under his fingernails. His hands are large and knobby knuckled and almost always covered in tiny cuts and scratches because he's always climbing trees and falling over.

"Aw, you wouldn't be interested."

"Why not?" I say with a smile.

He shrugs. Gouges another small crater in the mango. Ignores the gathering fruit flies.

"Because Skipper says not to get everyone all excited over every piece of trash that washes up."

I sit down beside him, resisting the urge to put my hand on him, even though I want to.

"Well, tell me what you found, and I'll decide whether it's trash or not."

He rolls the battered mango in his palm and his hand gets covered in sweet syrupy juice.

"Nothing," he mutters. He digs his thumb hard into the fruit and I watch the juice run down his wrist. "Nothing that'll get us rescued, and that's the most important thing, right?"

The bitterness in his voice is painful to hear. He's a sunny boy and resentment doesn't sit well on him. It ages his features and his youthfulness is one of the things about him that I like best. I want him to stay happy, cheerful and full of enthusiasm. There's enough bitterness and cynicism in the world, I want him to remain untouched by it.

And I don't know whether it's for selfish reasons or not.

I decide to let it go. I'll allow him to brood if that's what he wants, but I won't let him do it alone. I'm too fond of him to let him suffer by himself. I get up from the table and ease the kink out of my back. Finally I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze it lightly.

"All right, Gilligan. Forget about the lagoon. Come and help me for the afternoon- I could do with an extra pair of hands."

He turns in his seat and looks up at me and at last our eyes connect.

"Even mine?" he asks, and the hopeful look on his face breaks off yet another piece of my heart. At this rate, I won't have any heart left to call my own!

"Even yours," I grin. "Besides, I'm pretty sure there's a Skinny Mulligan story you were telling me that you never finished."

He dumps the soggy mango back in the bowl which by now is swarming with fruit flies. He wipes his big, clumsy hand carelessly on the seat of his pants as he clambers to his feet like that ungainly newborn colt. His natural, childlike happiness filters to the surface, knocking five years off his face. I bask gratefully in the warmth radiating from him. I want to tell him how unique and wonderful he is, but that will have to wait for another day.

He flashes me that beautiful smile and I flash him one of mine in return, and it's amazing what a smile can do- the troubles it can turn around.

"Gee, thanks, Professor," he says, almost knocking me over in his haste to get to the Supply Hut to see what I'm working on and how quickly he can wreck it.

And although I know I'm in for an eventful afternoon, there is no company I'd rather keep right now than the company of William Gilligan, First Mate of the SS Minnow- newborn colt, magnet for disaster and the mightiest sailing man of them all.