Roni and Joey: Interlude: Remembering

It was a warm sunny day in Sacramento. In the sky, a few clouds would pass overhead and provide relief from the sun’s rays. The breeze in the air carried the scent of spring and the chirping of birds. Were it any other day, one would think it was the ideal time of the year for fun outside.

However, for the people in the church, the luxury of the day was lost. They sat in the pews, as friends, as family members, as  acquaintances, or as strangers, all keenly aware of the somber feeling that took up the entire room.  For them, it wasn’t a day to go out and enjoy the fine spring day. No, for them, it was a day for remembering, for mourning, and most importantly, celebrating the life of someone very special to them all. 

Dusy sat in the palm of Miahs hand, the numbness he had been feeling the prior week mostly gone at this point, as the two entered the large church. It was the first time he had really been around Tallies outside of Miah and her family since his change, and despite the brave face he was trying to put on, his stomach was doing flips at the sight. There were relatives and family friends that all seemed to be impossibly huge to Dusty, and his grip on Miah’s palm only tightened as some glanced in their general direction.

Miah, on the other hand, was slightly nervous but for other reasons. There were currently zero people in this building that she recognized. While she may be a social butterfly and willing to move between social groups when needed, she recognized that this probably wouldn’t be the best place to do that. Especially so with her little sitting in the palm of her hand. Miah was able to pick up on the fact that Dusty was starting to get agoraphobic, and gently ran the index finger of her free hand over his head in a tender touch.

“Don’t worry, Dusty,” Miah said softly, her proximity to him allowing her voice to cut through the low murmurs that filled the room, “Nothing bad will happen to you while I’m here.”

Dusty’s head tilted upward to see Miah’s reassuring smile, and, true to his nature, he scoffed.

“Worried? Me? Don’t kid yourself. I just….don’t like the looks I’m getting is all,” Dusty said as he went back to scanning the crowd, trying to avoid Miah’s eyeroll and smirk combo, the one she uses when she knows he’s full of crap.

“Of course, Dusty. How could I think my little dude would ever be nervous or worried,” Miah retorted, her voice filled with amusement as she scanned the room, “Anyway, lets see if we can find your mom and sister…”

Dusty stiffened up immediately and looked up at Miah with actual nervousness.

“Already? We Just got here I mean…can’t we…acclimate a bit? It’s…a new situation for us after all”

Miah just frowned and looked at Dusty. “Dusty, you know good and well you’re expected. We aren’t doing any unnecessary detours just because you feel guilty for leaving them,” she said firmly as she looked around some more, “And don’t forget what you told me, mister: going into the system was your idea, so you don’t get to feel guilty. Plus, they’re probably just as conflicted as you are that these are the circumstances you get to have a reunion with them.”

Dusty’s shoulders just slumped, knowing that she was right. On top of this, Dusty knew that it wasn’t really the guilt of the choice he made that bothered him. He was more than comfortable taking the risk and going into a system of littles at the risk of being a pet to someone far worse than Miah; at least she wasn’t firm in her initial beliefs about littles like her older cousin sounded to be. 

No, what was gnawing at him now was the fact that it ended up not amounting to much extra time. Had Dusty stayed with his family, while it would have been hard, at least he would have been there until the very end. The thoughts about this caused his eyes to water up a bit, but he immediately wiped them when Miah gasped.

“Ah-Ha, there they are,” she said confidently as she carried Dusty further though the building, “Behave yourself, Dusty. Remember, this is more about supporting your mother”

Dusty shot her a quick glare, as if communicating that what Miah said is a given, but rolled his eyes when he saw she didn’t even glance down at him, too preoccupied with heading towards the pair.

Miah navigated carefully between pews and bowed heads, her pace respectful, her hand steady as she brought Dusty forward.

Felicity Archer stood near the front of the sanctuary, framed by stained glass windows that scattered colored light across her worn gray blouse and dark skirt. Her posture was straight, composed, but her hands were clasped so tightly in front of her that the knuckles had gone white.

Beside her, Evelyn fidgeted with the fraying strap of a black bag slung over her shoulder. Her foot tapped noiselessly on the polished wood floor, and she was glancing toward the rear of the church every few seconds — scanning. Searching.

Dusty.

When they finally saw him, it was Evelyn who reacted first. Her shoulders jolted slightly, and her mouth opened as if to say something — but no words came. She blinked, and blinked again, like she was trying to reconcile the sight of her brother, now barely bigger than her hand, cradled in someone else’s.

Felicity, on the other hand, didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Her eyes locked onto Dusty with such intensity it was almost too much — not shock, not horror, but a raw, unfiltered ache. Like she’d been rehearsing this moment in her head for weeks and now couldn’t remember a single line.

Miah came to a stop a few feet in front of them and waited for Felicity and Evelyn to come to her. She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to.

It was quiet for a few beats.

Then Evelyn stepped forward — slowly, cautiously — leaned in, her face overtaking Dusty’s field of view. The way she moved, how easily she ate up the foreground, and how fluid her movements were, all made Dusty’s stomach do flips. Maybe it was because he was so used to Miah at this point, but seeing his sister now tower over him like an omnipotent titan was just so unreal to Dusty that he struggled to comprehend it. Part of him really wished he had let Evelyn convince him to stay. At least if he had, he would be used to his now giant sister.

“Hey, Dustball…” she said, voice breaking just slightly at the end. “Still got that awful haircut, huh?”

Her attempt at a smile wobbled. She wasn’t mocking him. Not really.

Dusty rolled his eyes before grinning up at her.

“It’s a better one than yours, mop top. And Miah’s a popular kid at the preppy school and she likes my hair cut, so there”

Evelyn could only stick her tongue out at Dusty before Felicity approached a step behind, slower. Her eyes still hadn’t left Dusty.

“I… I wasn’t sure if I’d recognize you,” she said softly. “But I do. I’d know that face anywhere. Even in this tiny form.”

She leant in, replacing Evelyn’s face in Dusty’s vision — and now Dusty could see it: the quiet tremble in her jaw, the careful restraint in her hands, the agony of a mother trying to touch her son without overwhelming him. His mothers own imposing height was staggering to say the least. It still felt like yesterday when Dusty towered over the two of them, helping get things off the top shelves in the kitchen or open jars that they would struggle with before begrudgingly asking for help. Now though, the height of just the countertops would make him anxious, and one of the jars he could have opened himself would easily contain him, leaving him crying for help just for someone a few feet away to not even register. 

Stress and grief were etched in the lines of Felicity’s face, her eyes red from a mix of little sleep and long stints of crying. However, there was a quiet strength that still was present; a desire to make sure both her children were okay physically and emotionally. Even though Dusty wasn’t in her life like she wanted him to be, nothing would stop the maternal love and affection she had for her eldest child.

“You look tired,” she whispered. “And really lean. Have you been eating enough?”

“Yes, mom,” Dusty said politely, a more submissive tone that Miah had never heard, “Miah makes sure I get plenty of pellets.”

“Pellets?” Felicity said, her lip quivering a little, “Oh Dusty. That must be horrid. Can’t you have chicken or something?” she asked, before Evelyn cleared her throat.

“Mom, I told you,” she said quietly, “Littles can’t eat the same foods as us. It’s not healthy for them. Believe me, I argued with Miah over text for like a day about it.”

Felicity looked back at her daughter before sighing.

“I know sweetie…I just–I can’t help but worry,” she said before looking back at her son. “You look very handsome in your suit though,” She added with a smile as she kissed her index finger and with the utmost care and gentility, pressed it against Dusty’s cheek, before she stood up and looked at Miah.

“Miah. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person finally,” Felicity said with a grateful smile, “Thank you for being so good to my baby boy.”

Miah, trying not to giggle as she saw Dusty squirm in embarrassment from being called ‘baby boy’, nodded.

“Likewise, Mrs. Archer. It’s great to finally meet you face to face, though I….I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances,” said Miah, trying to be as comforting as possible in her expression, “I’m heartbroken for the passing of Mr. Archer. Dusty’s told me so much in our time together….he sounded remarkable.”

A sad smile formed on Felicity’s face, her eyes watering slightly as she briefly thought of her husband.

“Thank you, Sweetie. He….he was an incredible man. A fighter from day one of his cancer,” Felicity said, her voice a little shaky, “Very few would have a spirit that out-lives their body. Randall was…a rare soul.”

Before the conversation could continue, though, the Pastor of the church had made his way to the small group, clearing his throat gently as he did so.

“Mrs. Archer. My apologies but, it’s time to begin, if you and your daughter would like to sit in the front i’d—”
“And my brother, Pastor Fairfield,” Evelyn spoke up, a sharp edge to her voice as she pointed to Dusty sitting in Miah’s hand, who was also glaring up at the man with his arms crossed.

“R…right. Of course. Your brother. And his—guardian. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see him right away.” stammered Pastor Fairfield, a red blush coloring his face..

Without further discussion, the trio, with Dusty in hand, walked to the front row of pews and took their seat, with Felicity sitting between both Evelyn and Miah so she could be near both children.

The organ hummed low as the sanctuary filled with stillness. Light filtered through stained glass in quiet ripples, casting soft colors across the pews and the coffin at the front of the room.

Dusty sat on a cushioned square of black velvet placed on Miah’s lap, his legs folded beneath him, posture straighter than usual. Miah kept her hand nearby—not hovering, not smothering, just there.

Pastor Fairfield stood behind the lectern, his voice a calm baritone that echoed gently against the high ceilings.

“We gather here today not only to mourn the loss of Randall Archer,” he said, “but to honor a life lived with resilience, humor, and a love that touched every person in this room.”

Dusty swallowed hard. The pastor’s words floated around him, reverent but distant. He couldn’t tell if it was the size of the room, the low hum in the air, or just the ache in his chest that made everything feel so far away.

He peeked up at Felicity. Her hands were folded in her lap now, calm on the surface. Evelyn, beside her, sat tense, one hand balled in the fabric of her skirt.

“…a father, a husband, a friend,” the pastor continued. “A man who, even in his weakest moments, showed us what strength looks like.”

There was a pause. A soft breath from the podium.

“I’d now like to open the floor. If anyone here feels moved to share a memory, or say a few words… the time is yours.”

Dusty’s breath caught. His heart beat against his ribs like a warning.

Miah’s fingers brushed lightly against his arm.

“No pressure,” she whispered. “Only if you want to.”

With a deep breath, Dusty looked up at Miah and nodded.
“Let’s do this” Dusty said so she could hear his voice firm and resolute.

With that, Miah picked up Dusty and they made their way to the podium where the pastor was standing. Miah gently set Dusty down on the surface of the podium. To Dusty, the podium felt massive beneath his feet, the wood grain like shallow grooves in a canyon. It smelled of old varnish, lingering incense, and faint hints of floral hand lotion—probably from countless sermons and ceremonies. A tiny crack in the surface held a crumb of communion wafer. The brass trim at the edge, scuffed and dulled, towered like a curb. From his height, even the embossed cross carved into the wood felt like a full wall relief—holy and imposing.

Miah quickly adjusted the microphone, moving it to the side so that it wouldn’t impede Dusty’s view. Once the microphone moved, Dusty’s eyes widened a bit at the crowd looking back at him. It reminded him of the Forest of Mystery further up north in the state that he and his family visited a few years ago. Except in place of giant redwoods, there was a row or two of giant people, some squinting in his direction, others looking at Miah instead of the 3 inch little due to their eyesight, and some just looked confused when Miah stepped away from the podium, before realizing what was happening, and from there, those people began exchanging whispers.

In the audience, Evelyn and Felicity watched in rapt attention, but the murmurs amongst people sitting behind them didn’t go unnoticed. Some questioned if Miah was supposed to be the one speaking, others pointing out that she didn’t look familiar to them. Others, though, saw Dusty, and whispered in confusion and uncertainty. Even a few in the crowd laughed. Evelyn could already tell from her seat that not only was Dusty nervous about what he needed to say, their mother was starting to get a little anxious. With a huff of frustration, Evelyn stood up and turned around with a scowl, leering at the crowd.

“If any of you, I mean any of you have a problem with Randall and Felicity’s son–my older brother–being a little, get up now, and leave,” she said with firm determination and anger, “Randall Archer wouldn’t want ANY of you trashy people at his funeral if you took offence to his son being a little.”

With that, Evelyn sat back down and gave a nod to her brother as the murmurs immediately stopped.

Dusty grinned, and couldn’t help but snort in amusement, his reaction playing through the PA system and echoing in the church. 

Feeling a bit more relaxed, Dusty cleared his throat and spoke as loudly and clearly as he could.

“Thanks Evelyn,” he started, “as she said, I am Dusty Archer. I am the son of Randall and Felicity Archer, and I am a little. But—well I’m not here to talk about that. I’m here to talk about someone we’ve lost. Someone we all loved and respected: My father, Randall.”

Joey paused and closed his eyes momentarily, before continuing.
“My father was more than a father. He was my best friend. He was my hero. He was someone that, every day of my life, I looked up to and strived to be like. My father was kind, strong, caring and friendly. He stood on principles, and on helping people. He was a great father to my sister and I, and a great husband to my mother.”

Looking at the crowd, Dusty continued his speech.

“He and I would always talk to each other. About anything. Movies, baseball, football….life. He was just, there, you know? Ready to laugh and talk and just hang out with me. Even as a kid, he would be there and play with me. We’d do wiffle ball in the backyard, or go on a bike ride to the gas station, with me falling asleep in the seat on the way back home, and he would read me bedtime stories every night.”

“Then as I got older, we’d do things like watch cartoons, or movies, and we would laugh and laugh. I…for sure got his sense of humor. I really think I got all my interests from him really. Classic rock, baseball, Mel Brook films, computers….they were all things he was interested in, and that really got me interested in them too. Even now, with him gone and me in this…state, I still just want to be like my dad.”

Dusty starts to get choked up as he says this, but wipes his eyes and presses onward.

“When I found out I…I was the only one that was different, it devastated me. Not my family though, and definitely not my dad. I know he would have supported me…and cared for me while he had the time to, and if I stayed, I know I would have been in a good situation emotionally but, well, I knew it’d have been irresponsible. So I…I made my choice and…even though it hurt, my father still supported it. I think….I think he knew I wanted to do what was best for the family, and for him, so he could be in a less stressful situation and be comfortable.”

Dusty’s lip quivers and he glances back to Miah, who nods with understanding and encouragement. Turning back to the crowd again, Dusty lets out a shuddery breath, looking at his mother and sister this time.

“I wish it had given him more time. More time to spend with mom and my sister. More time to…video call with me so we could talk about movies and shows he was streaming while dealing with his cancer.”

“Now that he’s passed, I…I just feel so…empty. I know it sounds weird, or wrong, but…it’s true. I lost the one person in the world that truly got me. Now I look at things I’d want to share with him just to remember, he isn’t there to talk to anymore. I don’t have someone to send funny videos to, or to tell dumb dad jokes to, or…quote movies with or talk baseball with. The person that taught me to ride a bike, to throw and catch a baseball or swing a bat, taught me to drive a car and was just there for me whenever I needed help is just…gone.”

Wiping his eyes, Dusty stands up straighter, with a more determined look on his face..
“However, I know that I still have the memories we shared, that a part of him lives on through me. I know I’ll feel this pain for…a long time but, I also know that he wouldn’t be happy if I was just…depressed every day. No, he would want me to keep living my life the best I can, share my joys and interests with people, and be the person he always thought I was. I…I could go on but…I don’t want to take up everyone else’s speaking time so, I’ll just end with this. I love you dad, I miss you so much, but I’ll keep being me, so you can live on with us all.”

Dusty, wiping his eyes once more, stepped away from the microphone and walked to the edge of the podium. Miah gently picked him up, and once secure in her hand, carried him back to where his sister and mother were sitting, both of which were blotting their eyes with tissues.

After Miah returned to her seat next to Felicity, with Dusty nestled in her hand, the room sat in heavy silence—respectful, contemplative. The pastor offered a quiet thank-you before inviting others to speak if they wished.

Felicity rose next, composed but clearly holding back a storm behind her eyes. She didn’t need notes. Her words came slowly, deliberately—spoken from a place of loss, yes, but also pride. She talked about Randall’s steadiness, his laugh, the way he would do house work and maintenance  every Saturday, even when he was exhausted from his cancer. She spoke of how much he loved his children, and how fiercely he had fought to stay, right to the end.

Evelyn followed, her tone raw but steady. She shared memories of him teasing her about her taste in music, teaching her how to change a tire, insisting she keep a flashlight in the car “just in case.” Her voice cracked as she said she’d never stop looking for pieces of him in the world.

A few others spoke after them—an old friend from Randall’s work, a neighbor, a cousin. All voices wove the same truth: Randall Archer was deeply loved, and deeply missed.

When everyone had finished, the pastor stepped forward once more. With a prayer and a gentle benediction, he brought the service to a close. The soft swell of organ music returned as attendees began to stand, slowly filing out with respectful quiet.

Miah remained seated for a moment, letting the crowd clear a little. She looked down at Dusty, who turned to his mother and sister nearby. Felicity leaned in, eyes rimmed red but soft with affection.

“You did beautifully, sweetheart,” she said, her finger lightly brushing Dusty’s arm.

Evelyn gave him a watery smile. “Dad would’ve been proud. I know I am.”

Dusty smiled back, his throat still tight. “I’m glad I could say what I needed to. You both… helped more than you know.”

After a moment, Miah gently lifted her hand toward her face so she and Dusty could see each other more closely.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

“I think so,” Dusty replied. “Still sad. But… lighter, too. Like I finally let it out.”

“Good,” Miah said with a nod. “You did something really brave up there.”

Dusty smirked faintly. “Thanks. And hey… thanks for being my ride, podium, emotional support giant, all of it.”

“Anytime,” she said with a smile.

With that, Miah stood, carefully cradling Dusty in her hand as they walked toward the large double doors at the front of the church. The sun was beginning to dip, casting golden light through the stained glass above as they stepped outside—toward the car, the reception, and whatever came next.

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