Avery was a boy of seven, the oldest son of the richest man in town. He looked it, with his light brown and slightly curly hair and unusually green eyes. He had a slight build perfect for climbing trees and out running the cook. Had they been royalty, he would have fit the role of the prince perfectly.
He had one younger brother and one younger sister, and together the three of them were spoiled absolutely rotten. Avery had every toy any child could imagine wanting; toy trains and cars, go carts and elaborate play sets, a real miniature telescope and a huge lagoon-like pool with a slide and diving board. Both his brother and sister, young as they were, were content with all their expensive toys and spoils, but Avery was different. He didn’t want the toy robots and race cars. He didn’t want something money couldn’t buy at all. He wanted a friend.
He spent his days wandering the grounds of the large estate he lived on with his family, sister, brother, father and mother, exploring the hidden servants quarters and reading and rereading book after book in their expansive library, yearning for the companion, the sidekick, the friend all his favorite stories held. There was his brother of course, but at three years younger he was still a baby to do any of the fun things Avery wished to do. And besides, he was his brother. There was no fun in that.
One day while wandering dismally through the nursery he was supposed to share with his brother and sister (he was rarely ever in there at all), he found a toy he had never seen before. It was a small box, and what made it catch his eye was the fact that it was so dull and unremarkable looking. It was faded from age and obvious years of use; though Avery was certain this wasn’t a toy his brother or sister would have ever touched. The box was wooden and a very faded green in color, the wood chipped and split around the corners. By no means did it look as if it belonged amidst the rest of all their expensive toys. In fact, the only detail at all to the box was the silver latch, now clouded with age, in the shape of a little key. It had a winding arm on one side which made Avery think – it must an old jack-in-the-box.
Curious about the ancient toy, he undid the key latch and wound it up, creating a sad, almost lonely little tune before the top popped open to reveal the jack inside. He wasn’t like the other jacks Avery had seen in picture books, though. He didn’t have a jester’s hat and was hardly comical in appearance. His eyes were painted open the same faded green as the box, and his painted blonde hair was rubbed off in spots from years of being touched. He was completely expressionless, swaying on his spring. Avery actually imagined the jack looked sad, looking into his unseeing eyes as he bobbed back and forth. His tiny arms swung back and forth with his movements, spread wide as if looking for a hug.
Startled by the old toy, Avery shut it and put it back where he had first spotted it, and walked away.
He hardly forgot about it.
Avery was back the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that one as well, winding up the jack until he popped open, his sad song tinkling throughout the nursery. Finally he took the jack-in-the-box back to his own bedroom. He was drawn to the toy, much to the confusion of his parents and even himself. The toy was so plain and old. Why would Avery, when he had so many other, prettier toys, want to play with an old, nearly broken, jack-in-the-box? Yet Avery sat in his room hidden away, opening, closing, and opening again the box throughout the day, everyday, listening to the jack’s song, studying his painted face and somehow sad eyes, his chipped hands and slightly rusty spring. He wondered where it had come from and whose it had been. Had someone loved it? Had someone touched it day in and day out as Avery was now? Had it been special?
After several days, Avery realized he was saddened by the look on the jack’s face. His eyes stared lifelessly out on the small world of the boy’s bedroom each time he opened it, and his mouth, Avery had decided, had a distinct downward curve. He handled it gently, the jack and its box reminding him of finding an old, much loved teddy bear at the back of a closet, its fur long since matted and in spots rubbed off and the bright vibrant color of its eyes gone.
Despite the disappointed looks his parents often gave him, Avery kept the jack. He opened him every day. He talked to him once, out of frustration of having no one else to talk to, and ended up making a habit of it. First it was routine, things his siblings and parents had done to annoy him this time and how he hated sitting the boring prayer service every Sunday morning, but then Avery just did it, just like he would talk to another person. He started by wondering out loud where it had come from. Had it been owned by a lower class family? Seen hardship and sadness and been the cherished toy of another little boy or girl and then somehow found it’s way to him? Or had it been there the entire time, tucked away, waiting for the day Avery would find it? Had it been waiting for him? Soon Avery began to create more elaborate stories for him, stories staring the jack, stories of daring adventure and mystery, stories of love gone wrong and love lost, stories of evil enchantresses and brave knights and lasting friendship and laughter. Each day with each new story, Avery gave the jack a life.
The boy was rarely seen without his old jack-in-the-box. He had a smile now, a mischievous and secret smile that only the jack saw in its full form. Avery tucked the jack in his little box under a corner of his pillow at night, he took him on each holiday, and, as Avery grew old enough, he took him to an expensive boys’ school far away in another country. Avery met other boys, played rugby, and spent his time revising his work so he would make top grades and keep his parents proud. But never did he forget his jack. He never let anyone see him, let alone touch him. He still opened the little key latch and wound him up until he popped open, watched him sway and touched his tiny wooden hands, still smiled and told him in whispers when the lights were out the old stories from when he was little. Avery made up new stories as well, stories of boys who explored foreign lands and stories of the magicians who tried to lead them astray. He told him all about the other boys and confided in him how much he missed home, and just how much he still hated sitting through the prayer service. Nothing and no one could replace the jack-in-the-box, for he was the one who knew all of Avery’s secrets, even the most hidden ones; he was the one who knew each of his wishes and desires and fears. He had been Avery’s first friend.
As the years passed, it wasn’t only Avery who changed. The older Avery got the more subtle changes he noticed in the jack. His eyes seemed brighter, his song as Avery wound him up to open him seemed cheerful, far from the sad, lonely song that Avery remembered from that day so long ago in the nursery. Avery even thought the Jack actually smiled at him now, each time he opened his box. Now sixteen, Avery knew he would look very silly indeed traveling and keeping in his room an old jack-in-the-box, a plaything. A baby’s plaything. But still he kept him, the jack having a part of Avery himself.
Avery had many friends - but they were boys he played rugby with and ate with, not real friends. There was one boy, the year in school Avery celebrated his sixteenth birthday, that Avery hoped to be true friends with. They went everywhere and did everything together, even spent nights in each other's rooms occasionally, spending the entire night making each other laugh and sharing all sorts of things. Avery knew everything about this boy and the boy knew everything about Avery, and Avery was happy. He had finally found someone real! Someone who would talk back and share his stories as well. But the more Avery gave of himself to this boy, the less the boy gave Avery back. The boy became mean, calling Avery names and brushing him off when Avery went to him. Then one day the boy stopped paying Avery any attention at all and went to sit and talk with a new friend, leaving Avery behind.
Avery spent that night alone in his dark room, betrayed and hurt, no one seeming to care except the jack-in-the-box who swayed with the tiny movements of the bed as Avery cried. Would he never have someone to be close to? Avery certainly thought it.
I want someone real, to touch and to feel, Avery cried softly as he buried himself in his bed, next to the jack. I want you to be real.
He fell asleep like that; the tears on his face shining in the moonlight until they dried as he slept heavily as anyone does after a long cry. He didn't see the jack-in-the-box fall off its rusted spring and onto the bed, laying there in the quiet, shivering as if in sadness or cold. He didn't see another change start to take place in the jack, more than just a perceived brightness to it’s eyes or smile. The eyes moved, the smile frowned, and the toy shone as if collecting all the moonlight. It began to stretch, it’s fingers growing joints and moving, the one spring turning into two human legs.
When Avery woke, there was something warm next to him. It was a nice feeling and he smiled without opening his eyes. And then the something warm shifted. Avery turned.
It was a boy; asleep still, with blond hair in his eyes and pale skin, a shabby green t-shirt all Avery could see above the blankets. Avery wasn't scared. Somehow fear seemed the wrong emotion to have. He just watched, completely curious, his heart beginning to race. And then the boy opened his eyes. They were green.
They looked at each other.
Jack raised his hands and watched his fingers flex, before looking back at Avery and reaching with a curious hand to touch his face. Avery, completely wide eyed, didn't flinch or gasp or move away. He, in fact, moved closer.
"I wished for you," he whispered after a minute. He knew exactly who it was. How could he not?
Jack smiled. "I did too," he whispered back. "Did you see it?"
Avery nodded his answer, smiling too before grinning broadly. He touched the fingers on his cheek and the hands he had touched so often but now felt so different. His fingers ran up the arms that were no longer just little cords and over the chest that was no longer wood, before lifting to Jack's face, no longer flat and lifeless and sad, but smiling and moving and human. Eyelashes brushed Avery's palm and real, soft hair slipped between his fingers.
He scooted closer, fingers still in Jack's hair, and pressed himself against him, hearing the heart that beat life through him now, and closed his eyes. An arm draped itself over him and a body pressed closer.
"Thank you," Jack whispered. Avery just pressed even closer.
They laid like that for a very long time, quiet. Avery started to speak after a few minutes and soon after, for the first time in his life, Jack spoke back. They talked and talked, smiling shyly and laughing softly, eventually falling back asleep in each other's arms.
Jack went home with Avery from school, and was introduced to his family as a boy he had met there. He was taken in with open arms as it was evident how happy Avery had become. The change was quite welcome, and even celebrated. Avery and Jack were inseparable. They ate together, explored together, and slept together, spending the entire summer learning the way each other talked and moved and thought. They were the best of friends and closer than that still. Jack was the boy Avery had wished for. Avery was the boy Jack had watched and waited for. And they were happy for ever after.