The too-humid air reeked of sunbaked plastic folding chairs. The sun was angled just-so to peer under the tent canopy and melt red-cardboard bowls of chocolate and strawberry ice cream. Jeremy, the newly-three birthday boy, was sitting in his folding chair at the head of the table, trying to stay deadly still. He was caught between squirming away from beams of sunlight blinding him and his mother’s admonishments to stay still. His blue-plaid button-down and the corners of his mouth were smeared with yellow cake frosting.

The party was winding down. Jeremy’s friends had already left, their parents dragging them home for soapy bubble baths to rid them of salty, no-deodorant child sweat. All who remained in the backyard were Aunt Sheila who pinched cheeks and squealed, Uncle Matt who gently pried Aunt Sheila’s manicured nails out of teary-eyed children’s flesh, and Jeremy’s parents. Mom was shielding Jeremy from Aunt Sheila and Dad was folding up the sun-warmed chairs.

And Bearded was there, of course. Bearded was always there.

“You can go play with your new toys,” Mom said as Aunt Sheila lunged for Jeremy. Jeremy stopped at the present table, scooped an armful of new wind-up cars between his elbows, and hurried through the backdoor. Bearded followed him.

“Katie bites her fingernails,” Bearded said. Jeremy plopped on the oakwood living room floor and pushed a blue car back and forth. “Anthony eats his boogers. Annie has a crush on you.” Jeremy nodded wisely. He was three now, and there was no need to react childishly as he would have when he was two, with giggles. Bearded appreciated Jeremy’s newfound maturity. Communication was more efficient when Jeremy didn’t giggle.

Bearded envisioned himself as Jeremy’s guardian. Bearded had seven eyes so as to keep watch, bulbous ears so as to listen out, eight arms to defend and comfort, and a soft, plush beard—for which he had been named—to soak up Jeremy’s tears when Jeremy cried. It was enough this time. Jeremy would be different.

Jeremy was a protected boy. His mother worked in the home, and Bearded trusted her implicitly. His father could be absent, but he loved Jeremy dearly, and that’s more than can be said about many of the Before Children. Jeremy’s house had a white-picket fence and there was a green-plastic crossing guard flag waving a “Children Present” sign. Jeremy lived in a safe place. But Jeremy was older than the Before Children, and that made Bearded nervous.

“There’s my birthday boy!” It was Aunt Sheila with her hot coral nails and her wide smile. Jeremy, frightened and forgetting that mature three year olds face their problem, bolted. Out the front door, which still unlocked and propped open from welcoming party guests. Through the yard. Bearded followed, his arms propelling him forward and wind watering his eyes.

“Wait, Jeremy!” Bearded yelled. Jeremy was rushing toward the road. “Stop, Jeremy!” And Jeremy listened. The toes of his grey Keds hovered over the edge of the curb. Two cars whizzed past, ignoring the traffic sign and the child. “Let’s go inside.”

But then there was Aunt Sheila guarding the doorway and Jeremy was running into the street before Bearded could use his eight arms to stop him. The car, blinking in the sun, didn’t stop until Jeremy was a puddle on the sidewalk.

Bearded knelt beside Jeremy, his beard soaking up blood. Jeremy was a Before Child now. The longest Before Child Bearded had known. Bearded didn’t want any more Before Children. It didn’t matter the seven eyes, the eight arms, the ears. Bearded was always helpless.

“Happy birthday, Jeremy,” Bearded said as Aunt Sheila wept over the body, Dad got into fisticuffs with the driver, and Mom called 911. 

And then Bearded faded, awaiting the next child that would summon him.