The Dragon of Nottingham - Isaac's Recorder

I have a dragon that lives in my room. He likes to eat sugary things. Same as me. He also likes comic books. Same as me, as well. He doesn't read, I don't think. I don't know where a dragon would learn such a thing. He just looks at the pictures and laughs at the silly parts. I don't read, either. I'm only four, you see. But I do like to talk. My mom says I'm precocious. Such a big word for someone my size. My dad just calls me chatter box.

My dad has given me his old tape machine. He said Grandad gave it to him when he was just a boy like me. He said it would help me sort out my thoughts. Like talking to a friend when there wasn't any friend around. That you could tell it secrets and it would keep them safe without having to make a promise. It just would. My dad told me that I could tell it things I wouldn't dare tell another soul. Like believing in dragons.

I didn't always, you know. I did believe in other things before the dragon came along. Like the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. Everyone believes in those three. I don't know a single soul who's ever told me otherwise. But I don’t know of anyone who belives in dragons.

Alfred, that's my friend from next door, told me that he believes in angels. I didn't laugh or make a funny face when he said that, either, like people do when they’re being rude to another person's point of view. I just believed what he told me. That an angel came to him in a dream and told him his Grandad was very happy and that he would keep an eye on Alfred and be with him always. It made Alfred happy. But I hope I never have that dream.

At first I thought Alfred was a funny name for a boy. Then he told me he was named after Batman's butler. And that's when I started collecting comic books. I needed to know who this Batman was. Now I know.  And every time I look at my comics I think of my friend. Though I doubt very much Alfred has any wish to be a real butler. He says his desire is to work at McDonald's. To be able to work and eat at the same time makes perfect sense to me. Maybe we can get a job together. If so, I would insist on being in charge of the French Fry machine. That would be the best job ever. I would stuff my pockets full of fries and ketchup packets and eat them anytime I wanted.

The dragon just woke up. He yawns real loud like my mom. But that’s the only noise he ever makes. No. I take that back. He also snores. But it’s not a door-rattler snore like my dad’s. I don’t think I could have a dragon that snored like that. If I did I’d have to put him in the closet.

The dragon is rubbing his tummy. That’s his signal that he is hungry. I will feed him the French fries I stuffed in my pocket yesterday at the restaurant. They’re his favorite. I had to wait until Mom  wasn’t looking. Which is a very hard thing to do. Mom always seems to have her eyes on me. No matter what I’m doing or where I’m doing it, I can always depend on Mom to say things like, ‘Put that down, young man! you don‘t know where its been!’ or ‘Don’t pick at your body parts in public! People will think you don‘t bathe!’

The dragon looks disappointed with his breakfast. I sort of mushed up the French fries from having them in my pocket for too long. But he’s eating them just the same. I’ve placed a bowl of water by his bed, but he insists on drinking out of the toilet bowl. I’ve seen my Grandad’s dog do that. So I suppose it’s all right. I just don’t like when he tries to lick my face afterward. Eek!

I’m being called down for breakfast, so I must go. It’s Sunday. That means waffles and bacon! It was fun talking to you this morning, Mr. tape machine. We’ll do this again tomorrow. Bye for now.