Septemus 6


Dear Sept,

Now that I know you can understand me, I’ve decided to keep you in the loop.

If I know it, you’ll know it.

I had to piece out the truth about my mom and dad from what little clues Nonny and Poppy gave me. I don’t want you to have to do that.


So, that’s why I told you everything today.


I realize now it was maybe too much. Maybe it’s not that great of an idea to tell a little kid everything you know.

I mean, just because you’ve got the linguistic capacity doesn’t mean you’ve got the emotional capacity.


You about broke my heart when you said, “SebationIwon’tseebizaabgotojonomore?

Now I see why Nonny and Poppy always dodgedthe question when I asked where my mom was and when she was coming to get me.

It’s tough to tell a little kid he won’t be seeing his mom again.


Septemus, I’m sorry your mom died in that crash. I don’t know why she wasn’t in the protective pods like you and the other kids. Maybe she had to drive the ship. Maybe something went wrong and she was getting out to fix it. Maybe the reason you all survived was because of something she did, and she saved you, giving up her life so you and your siblings could keep yours. Maybe it was just one of those millions of stupid, random pointless things that happen for no reason–or at least no reason that we can figure out. It just happened. I wish it hadn’t, and I wish she were still here to lay her blue hands on you, and I know that this something you’ll carry with you for all your life.

It’s your defining circumstance.

You asked me, “Sebastionwheretheygoall99?”


I don’t know where they went, Sept.

I asked at the agency, and no one would tell me.

But I’m going to look for them.

Youlookalloverthewidewholeeverything?” you asked.


I promised you. “Yes, Septemus. I will look all over the wide whole everything, and I’ll keep looking until we find them.”



I’ll find them as quickly as I can. I told you my idea to start with the alumni association for the ECE program at the University of MP. It’s only logical, since I know the agency sent letters to all us recent grads.




Yes, Septemus. I will keep writing and keep writing until they answer. Until we find as many of your brothers and sisters as we can find.


Sebastionwhenwefindthemwehavebigparty? Anddance? Promise?”


Of course. We’ll have a big party and dance with all your brothers and sisters and all their new bizaabgotojoto.


It might not be that easy, though.

I mean, the paranoid vibe I’m picking up on from the agency is pretty strong. And it could be that they’ve told the others not to say anything. Or even if it’s nothing explicit, you know how people are: paranoia spreads like the flu.

But even if it’s not easy, and even if it takes longer than I think, I’ll keep looking.



“It might take a while, Squirt,” I said.



When I tucked you in tonight, you whispered to me as you fell asleep, “Sebastionwritefastletterstheycomequickly.

Well, little guy. I’m writing my first draft tonight. Then I’ve got to read it over. It’s got to be written just right if we want to persuade the other caregivers to take a risk and meet us. But I’ll write it as quickly as I can while doing a good job to be persuasive. And reassuring. And trustworthy. And calm. While still expressing the urgency of my little squirt needing to see his bizoopagotogo ASAP.


You won’t have to grow up a solitary kid, like I did, Sept. Not if I can help it.

Your bizaabgotojo,


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Septemus 4

Dear Sept,

I’m so glad you like the dolls I got for you.

I had to search all over town to find the one with blue skin.

“Here you go,” I said when I handed her to you. “Bizaabgotojo.”

“Bizaabgotojo,” you said. “Oooh, squeegeee.”


I played with the brown-skinned doll.

It was fun listening to you humming. Your little song told the story of a day–all the moods of waking and cooking and cleaning and playing.


Your song stopped and you turned to me.

“Bizaabgotojo?” you said, handing me the blue-skinned doll.

You looked at the brown-skinned doll in my other hand and smiled. I gave it to you.

“Sebastion!” you said. You said my name. And you snuggled the brown-skinned doll close to you, laughing like a tiny cave river, sparkling in the moonlight.


“Sebation ista moostomi bizaabgotojo,” you said. And you smiled and I felt something split wide open inside me. And I don’t think I will ever be the same again.


Your bizaabgotojo,


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Septemus 1


Dear Sept,

Three days ago, you came to live with me. I wanted from the first to write this account of our life together so that when you’re on your own, later, when you’re all grown up, you can have something to look back on, to help you remember, to keep you connected to your past, and maybe even, to answer some questions.


I don’t have that with my dad. He came back from the war broken. I guess it broke my mom, too. After she died, I went to live with Nonny and Poppy, my dad’s parents. I was about five when we had my dad’s funeral. I remember guns going off and even a band played. I still can’t stand the sight of dress uniforms and flags.


I make it sound like my childhood sucked. But it didn’t. Nonny and Poppy were probably way better parents for me than my mom and dad ever could have been. So it wasn’t like I suffered. I just had questions and trauma. Like all of us do.


Anyway, Nonny and Poppy died when I was in college. I figured I could do life on my own. I majored in early childhood education because I like little kids and I want to help build a better world, and I figured I’d never have kids of my own, so why not help raise other people’s kids?


Then I went on to get a master’s in library science. I got the idea I’d work as a children’s library. But nobody’s hiring. I graduated last May and I’m still unemployed.


I guess the agency found me through the ECE degree. They sent that letter to all University of MP ECE grads from the past four years.

I had to think hard before accepting. I took a few phone calls from people at the agency.

Then I decided, why not? You needed me. No one else did.


And I’ve got the time and training to take care of you.


You were Number 77–the seventy-seventh foundling out of one hundred. Seeing as our last name is Sevens, I thought that was auspicious. That’s why I’ve named you Septemus. Septemus Sevens.  Your official ID of record is G27Z0-77.


You’re sleeping now, which gives me these few minutes to write. Because when you’re awake, it’s non-stop action.


I’d better get snack ready. You’ve got a tendency to wake up mad and hunGRAY!


I’m doing my best to keep you happy, little 77. Bear with me.

Your caregiver,



Author’s note: Oh, look! I’ve started Pinstar’s newest challenge, the Alien Adoption Challenge, because who can resist? Hope you have fun following along with me as Sebastion Sevens does his best to raise young Septemus (Official ID of Record G27Z0-77). Cheers!

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