245 - Fridge-worthy

Here's something I say a lot, but it's just the truth.

We couldn't make this show without our Patreon.

It is by far the biggest way we are able to pay everyone working on the show, from the writers to the actors, to Jessica, who does original artwork for every single episode, to Joella, who does all the back-end business stuff.

All of these people are able to pay their bills, and we are all able to put out the show because of our Patreon.

And we try to give some cool rewards as a thank you.

Four bonus episodes a year that are not released on the main feed, ad-free versions of our episodes, monthly Zoom hangouts with the Nightfall Writers, director's notes on every episode, a brand new book club we are launching led by the Nightfall Writers, and even the chance for you to appear in future Nightfall episodes as a character.

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Thank you.

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When God closes a door, he also locks that door.

Tight.

No one open that door.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Listeners, our son Esteban drew the best picture at school.

Stunning, really.

It's a house at sunset underneath a tall tree.

You can see a family of three standing on the front porch next to a garden of lilacs and roses.

A lone dove soars in the cloudless sky above.

You could put this thing in a gallery, it's so good.

Carlos and I don't have time to open an artist's studio, though I did see that there's one for sale over on Galway.

It still has the original sign in the window that reads, Nice Nick's Bail Bonds and Contemporary Paintings.

Nice Nick was one of Night Vale's best painters and bail bondsmen up until he retired last summer.

Now he spends his days relaxing by the copy machine in the hall of records, filing reports and returning passive-aggressive emails from his supervisor.

It's so wonderful that now he can dedicate all of his time to his lifelong hobby.

So, Esteban's drawing won't be in a professional gallery, not yet anyway, but it was placed dead center on our fridge.

And we even had patrons over to view this masterpiece.

It was my sister, Abby, along with Steve and their daughter Janice.

They were coming over for a family dinner anyway, but in addition to Carlos's delicious homemade oatmeal and feta soup, they also got a free art show.

More on the quote gallery opening soon, but first, an update on a previous story.

Many of you have contacted us with your concerns about the boy we found who likes to hold knives and is also a younger version of the radio host Kevin from Desert Bluffs 2.

He is doing fine, we presume.

But he disappears pretty regularly and this is one of those times, but he always returns to Tamika Flynn's house.

She's still fostering him until we can figure out a better option.

He's a wily one, that boy.

So let's get to your questions.

Harrison K writes, That child seems really good at knife.

I myself am an expert at knife and would love to have a chance to show him the myriad ways of knife.

So much knife to learn about in my knife school.

Thank you, Harrison.

It was refreshing to get your email after reading dozens of others that told us we shouldn't let a little boy have so many knives.

I had tons of knives growing up, drawers full, really, and I turned out just fine.

There was that one single incident, but I wasn't the one injured.

Plus, the charges never stuck because by all appearances, it was an accident.

So yes, I'll pass your information on to Tamika and she can reach out to you about knife school.

Jackie F.

writes, Cecil, please let Tamika know that I'd be happy to help her with fostering the boy.

I'm really good with kids.

I'm only 28 years old, but I've lived for much longer.

Haven't we all, Jackie?

And I think Tamika would really appreciate the help.

Kareem N writes, is that portal to the other desert still open in Carlos's lab, Cecil?

How big is it?

Can you fit a few people through?

Or is it only little kids sized?

Asking for a friend.

Well, Karim, Carlos put up a sign that says, do not enter portal.

So while the portal occasionally appears, it would be impossible for anyone to enter it because the sign prohibits that.

Thank you all for reaching out.

I'll keep you updated as future events warrant.

Back to our family dinner and Esteban's incredible work of art.

Everyone loved it.

They're trying to encourage their little nephew slash cousin in his blossoming abilities, but I think they also recognized it for the marvel of theme and concept that it truly is.

Abby said it reminded her of a drawing I did as a child.

My drawings never made it to the fridge, nor Abby's drawings.

Our mom refused to look at anything either of us ever drew, because she did not want to understand anything deeper than immediate, tangible reality.

Abby was certain my old drawing was still around, so after dinner we searched through some scrapbooks and family albums, and we actually found it.

When I was only six years old, I had drawn a picture of a house next to a tree.

Though, mine was different from Esteban's in quite a few ways.

First, I didn't use the same colors.

Esteban's picture was vibrant, while mine was mostly brown.

Also, while Esteban drew his with crayons, I had drawn mine in, I think, watercolors?

Some kind of rust-colored liquid.

Or something.

I hope it was watercolors anyway.

And the specific content was different in my drawing too.

There was a line of owls perched on my tree, and instead of a flower garden, I had drawn a shovel sticking out of a pile of dirt.

I pointed this fact out to Abby, and she said, no, they're identical.

Look, Cecil.

We went back to the fridge, and there were indeed a row of owls on the tree, as well as a shovel and dirt.

This seemed wrong.

I remembered Esteban's tree as having a small round dome of green leaves, but looking at it now, there was no visible foliage, only craggy brown bark and jagged long branches.

It was so large that it grew out of the frame of the paper.

Esteban's owls looked so realistic.

I could almost hear their familiar calls.

You know that weird, high-pitched buzz owls make, like

a dentist's drill.

Everyone else retired to the living room to play Scrabble, the board game where you use lettered tiles to try to guess the name of God.

It's always been a family favorite, though.

We hadn't played it since the time Janice came so close to winning that we all began to weep.

We stopped her from laying down the final letter and put the game away for good.

That was almost 10 years ago.

But while they were already halfway through their game, I was still in the kitchen staring at Esteban's drawing.

Had it changed?

Was it still changing?

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Now back to my son's perfect drawing.

As I stood in front of the fridge staring at Esteban's art, I noticed that the family of three was gone.

Esteban had drawn me, Carlos, and himself happily standing on the front porch enjoying a beautiful day, but as I looked at it now, the many contrasting colors had all faded to a dull, reddish-brown.

The flowers were gone, and now our family was gone too.

Then I noticed that they weren't gone, but inside the house, or at least two of them were.

Their tiny, happy mouths had distorted into lopsided maws.

And the third member of the family, the smallest boy?

I couldn't see him anywhere.

Not at first, at least.

And then I found him, crouched just behind the tree, which had grown even larger.

And the row of owls on the branches had become one single owl.

I knew that owl's face.

So familiar, I could almost hear the owl in my head.

It sounded like a dripping faucet.

I looked back down at the figure of Esteban and realized he wasn't crouching at all.

Rather, he was crawling into the base of the tree, into the earth.

I wanted to shout, No, Esteban, don't do it!

But I didn't.

Because I understood then that this family of three was not me, Carlos, and Esteban present day.

It was my mother, Abby, and me.

Many, many years ago.

Too many.

When I was the youngest.

When I was Esteban's age.

I ran into the living room where the rest of the family was still playing Scrabble.

Carlos had guessed the name Nikolai, which was only worth three points, and Steve was spelling Jeanette just as I announced my discovery.

The room went silent.

Everyone looked confused except for Abby.

I could see some understanding mixed with a touch of annoyance in the lines around her eyes, and I asked, Abby, do you remember anything about our dad?

She sighed and told me to sit down.

I knew this wasn't appropriate for game night, but it was a story I needed to hear.

More on this coming up, but now let's have a look at traffic.

From space, you can't see cars.

And if you could see them, say, with a specialized lens, they would appear to move so slowly, even on a wide open road with no other vehicle around.

Motion is relative to perspective.

Time is a dimension, not a metronome.

Maybe the traffic jam on Route 800 or Hubbard Ave or wherever you are going is holding you up.

Maybe you're late to your daughter's basketball game.

Maybe you feel anxiety or claustrophobia or the rawest emotion of all.

Rage.

Well,

just know that there are people in the sky who wouldn't be able to discern the difference between one mile per hour and 70 miles per hour.

And isn't it more comforting to know that it's all relative?

You'll miss the first quarter of that game, but you'll live for many more decades watching her grow and change.

She'll walk out that door one day and only come back a few times a year at most.

And you will experience a disconsolate joy knowing you created a human being, but that she is no longer yours.

You have plenty of time.

This has been Traffic.

Abby said that she's told me about our dad a million times before, but I don't remember her ever telling me the story.

Abby, there's something alive inside Esteban's drawing, and I think it's our father.

I said.

I need to know.

Cecil, she snapped.

Please, can we change the subject?

Steve, Carlos, and Janice pretended not to hear our argument.

Janice played the name Gustav and was awarded 11 points and a slight flickering of the stars.

But instead of being pleased with herself, she looked concerned.

Where's Esteban?

She asked.

We all froze.

I gasped, seeing an empty spot at the coffee table where Esteban was only moments ago.

Then we heard Esteban.

He was standing in the kitchen entrance, proudly holding up his drawing.

He pointed at the tree and asked, I drew Grandpa Gershwin.

The branches weren't even visible on the paper anymore.

The tree had grown so large.

It even blocked a part of the house from view.

I could hear the sounds of owls somewhere like tin cans in a plastic bag.

Let's go now to the weather.

Well, we knew

we were supposed to feel happy

sunshine, miracles, and promises of days yet to come.

So we drown our tears, liquor and beauty bills.

Sometimes each other

like tomorrow wouldn't go

if we weren't smiling

Smiling all the way down

All the way down

All the way down

All the way down

And let

all the painful parts fade

falling behind us.

Well, I guess that's our way

holding on

the ones we love,

the ones we can't let go.

Like having them here

is gonna

keep us smiling,

smiling all the way down,

all the way down,

all the way down,

all the way down.

So I'm holding you

like this first is the last time

Like the sun's early shining Take you away for good

And I'll keep these thoughts all to myself Cause it's a bad

for good things to praise God.

Roar in the harsh light of day

Loving in the dark

All the way down

Living the dawn

All the way down

Loving the dark

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I don't remember how much time passed.

This part of the evening was a bit of a blur, but eventually we put away Scrabble.

No one correctly spelled the name of God.

But Steve got closest when he guessed Pete.

That was worth 693 points and a volcano eruption in Croatia, and Steve won the game.

We switched to Trivial Pursuit Imaginary Edition.

I'm pretty good at Trivial Pursuit, well, well, at least at some of the categories like Animals That Don't Exist, What Tony Blair Smells Like, and Movies that were never made, but I'm terrible at the geography questions.

We played that for a bit.

Janice talked about how school was going, she's working on a sports medicine degree.

Steve got a lucrative job offer from a competitor, but he really likes the team he's built at his current employer.

Steve is nothing if not loyal.

And Abby...

Well...

Abby's Abby.

We love each other, but I don't know if we like each other.

Still, when Steve came along, then later Janice, then Carlos, and now Esteban, it's gotten easier between Abby and me.

We have more than each other on our minds when it comes to family.

Carlos and I ended up beating Steve, Abby, and Janice in Trivial Pursuit.

Even better, we won it on a geography question that I got correct.

The question was, if there was a continent called Blurp, how many countries would it have?

I said 19 without even thinking, and I was spot on.

Lucky guess.

We hugged Steve, Abby, and Janice goodbye and carried our sleeping Esteban up to bed.

I told Carlos I wanted to stay up a bit, and he said goodnight and gave me a kiss.

I dug through our scrapbooks and albums again, looking for any photo or letter or card, anything.

about our dad.

It felt like a full hour of scouring through these old books before I heard Carlos say, Cecil, are you still up?

I turned around and saw that it was dawn.

Carlos was in the kitchen making a salmon and blueberry smoothie to start the workday.

I made myself some coffee and toast.

As I did, I admired Esteban's drawing once again.

In the morning light, I saw the color had returned, as had the flowers and the dove and the happy family of three on the porch.

Carlos put his chin on my shoulder from behind and said, He's going to be a hand-to-god artist one day, isn't he?

Look at that composition.

I see something new every time I look at it.

I said, yep, me too.

It wasn't a pleasant tone,

impatient, annoyed.

Carlos asked, you okay, hon?

Not really, I replied.

I thought Abby was finally going to tell me the story of my dad.

She said she would.

But like always, she changed the subject.

I don't understand why she does that that to me.

Carlos stared into my eyes for several silent seconds.

A concerned but compassionate stare.

Finally, he said,

Oh, babe,

she did.

We stopped Scrabble for like 30 minutes to hear her story.

To be honest, I've heard her tell it so many times to you, it's growing a bit dull.

Do you not remember?

I did not.

The sunrise cast long golden stripes across the fridge, and I thought,

and I thought,

and I thought.

I could hear owls in the crisp morning air, like a flower pot shattering.

Stay tuned next for the 200 greatest ad jingles of all time presented to you commercial-free.

Good night, Night Vale.

Good night.

Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Night Vale Presents.

It is written by Joseph Fink, Jeffrey Craner, and Bree Williams and produced by Disparition.

The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin.

Original music by Disparition.

All of it can be found at disparition.bandcamp.com.

This episode's weather was All the Way Down by Palamoni.

Find out more at facebook.com slash palamonymusic.

Comments, questions, email us at info at welcometonightvale.com or follow us on Instagram and Tumblr at nightvaleofficial.

We now have a TikTok at Night Vale Official as well if you are all about that vertical video life.

Most importantly, check out welcometonightvale.com where we have a twice monthly mailing list that is the best way to keep up to date directly from us to you.

It's time that we made the internet about people talking directly to people again.

You can learn about things like our live show, The Attic.

A tour of North America is starting today.

If you live in Toronto, the Midwest, or the Northeast, look into that before it's too late.

Today's proverb.

You can lead a horse to water, but don't be surprised when that horse splits in half and two federal agents pop out and arrest you for trespassing in the Dasani factory.

I'm Amy Nicholson, the film critic for the LA Times.

And I'm Paul Scheer, an actor, writer, and director.

You might know me from the League VEEP or my non-eligible for Academy Award role in Twisters.

We love movies and we come at them from different perspectives.

Yeah, like Amy thinks that, you know, Joe Pesci was miscast in Goodfellas, and I don't.

He's too old.

Let's not forget that Paul thinks that Dude 2 is overrated.

It is.

Anyway, despite this, we come together to host Unschooled, a podcast where we talk about good movies, critical hits, fan favorites, must-season, and case you missed them.

We're talking Parasite the Home Alone, From Greece to the Dark Knight.

We've done deep dives on popcorn flicks, we've talked about why Independence Day deserves a second look, and we've talked about horror movies, some that you've never even heard of, like Kanja and Hess.

So, if you love movies like we do, come along on our cinematic adventure.

Listen to Unspooled wherever you get your podcasts.

And don't forget to hit the follow button.

Hi, I'm here to tell you about Good Morning Night Vale.

Welcome to Night Vale's official recap show and unofficial best friend food podcast.

Join me, Meg Bashwiner, and fellow try-hosts Hal Lovelin and Symphony Sanders as we dissect all of the cool, squishy, and slimy bits of every episode of Welcome to Night Vale.

Come for the insightful and hilarious commentary, and stay for all of the weird and wild behind-the-scenes stories.

Good morning, Nightvale, with new episodes every other Thursday.

Get it wherever you get your podcasts.

Yes, even there.