Uncle Mixey sat in his big, soft and old yellow chair. His pipe wound around his hand in a knot that you could never really figure out, no matter how long or hard you stared at it.

The clouds that came out of his pipe smelled sweet, like cotton candy, and each puff was a different color. The first puff might be soft blue, like the sky. Then the next puff might be a bright, neon green or a cheery, fire engine red. Sometimes the clouds came in different shapes. You never really knew what to expect from Uncle Mixey’s pipe.

Watching Uncle Mixey was like watching a video game. Watching him was fun. But listening to him, that was the best.

The Color Kids had gathered in a half-circle around Uncle Mixey’s chair. It was story time and no one wanted to miss an Uncle Mixey story.

"Let’s see," Uncle Mixey said. His aqua eyes moved from Pink Child to Green Child to Lavender Child. "What story should I tell you today?"

Uncle Mixey had a special gift with stories; he was always able to tell how the kids were feeling and what kind of story they might need to hear.

Noticing that the group was a little anxious and worried, Uncle Mixey decided on his story and began.

"Once long ago, or, I forget, maybe it was just yesterday. Sometimes I get all mixed up," he said.

Then he waited while the kids gave their expected groan at his silly joke.

"All right," he said. "It doesn’t really matter when it happened. It’s what happened that counts."

Now, as it happens, the Color Kids were not the only ones waiting to hear the story.

The Guardian Angels of the children, who were never far away from them, were also gathered closely around Uncle Mixey.

Each child, of course, has an Angel to watch over them. It was the job of the Angels to keep the children safe.  And one of the things Angels like best about their job with humans is listening to their stories.

Uncle Mixey sent a large round puff of yellow candy cloud into the air. It looked like the Sun rising up in the sky.

"It was a nice, sunny morning in the Long Away Countryside," he began. "All the Color Kids were eating their color cakes, swishing them down with big gulps of brown cinnamon cider and generally doing what it is they do every morning—until they heard something that changed their world."

A hush fell over the Color Kids as they wondered what could have changed a whole world.

"You see," said Uncle Mixey, "many of the children in Long Away Countryside ate their breakfast while watching television. Others were already in their schools or day care centers when they heard the news."

The kids all looked at Uncle Mixey intently, waiting for the news.

"A message came from New City," he said, "of a terrible explosion that rocked two tall towers and made them fall. Color Copters had crashed into the buildings."

The Color Kid’s eyes got big and, all together, they took a large, deep breath. They knew this story. They had heard it over and over again, and still the story interested them—and scared them.

The story interested them because they wanted very badly to figure out what had happened, to understand how it could have happened and to know what it all meant.

It scared them because it was an ugly and sad tale. The story was so big that it stretched its awful pictures all the way from New City to the Long Away Countryside.

This made them feel icky and sick in their bellies. It made them feel sore and hurt in their hearts. It made them confused and scared in their heads.

Sometimes they couldn’t sleep at night. When they did sleep, sometimes they had bad dreams.

"Many color people were hurt in the explosion," Uncle Mixey went on, "but many more came out to help them. Color fire people, rescue people and police people helped. Color doctors, nurses and everyone who could, came out to help.

"Other color people helped, too. They donated their color blood and gave their color money to buy food and supplies and to help all those who needed it.

"While it was good and generous that people were being kind and helping each other, everyone kept thinking and wondering about who could have done such a terrible, awful thing.

"It helped a little when the Color King announced that the explosion was caused by a man whose name was ‘Mr. Invisible.’ He didn’t have any color at all, and no one could see him.

"The News People tried to draw pictures of Mr. Invisible. They made the background all black and left an empty space in the middle of it.

"The children looked at those pictures a lot and tried hard to see who that person was and to understand why he wanted to hurt them. But really, there was nothing there to see.

"Soon, the Color King declared a war against Mr. Invisible—and everyone knew that if anyone could find him and bring him to justice it was the Color King. Still, it seemed like a hard thing to do. And how, the kids wondered, was that going to fix what was now so broken in their world?"

Uncle Mixey looked at the children and they all nodded their heads solemnly. They had each wondered this, too.

Uncle Mixey took a puff of his pipe and sent a big black crooked-arrow cloud into the air.

"All the children," he said at last, "the children of New City and the children of Long Away Countryside had been worrying that the explosion could happen again, at any moment, and maybe this time to them.

"The Color Kids knew that New City was far from Long Away Countryside, but they also knew that other Color Kids lived in New City. They worried about them."

Uncle Mixey looked closely at the Color Kids. The Color Kids looked around at each other, trying to see if everyone else had really been worrying about those things, too.

Uncle Mixey gave them all a reassuring smile and continued, "Their Mommies and Daddies, of course, had told them that they were safe and that nothing bad was going to happen to them.

"But, how could they really be sure, they wondered?

"What the Children did know for sure was that they felt kind of lost, like they were a part of those people who died, or like those people were a part of them.

"Mostly, the Color Kids didn’t even know the people who were hurt in the explosion. So the feelings they were having seemed very confusing to them."

One Color Child, Pink-Shannon, raised her hand.

"Yes?" Uncle Mixey asked.

"I know how they feel," she said. "Sometimes I feel like that, especially at night."

Rosalie, Shannon’s Guardian Angel, moved closer to her, hoping to bring her some comfort.

"I know you do," Uncle Mixey said. "In the story, the kids tried to forget what had happened. They tried to pretend that it hadn’t."

"They wanted badly to feel that the world was exactly as it had been before the crash, but everyone was saying that it wasn’t.

"The children felt so lost and so alone, even when they were with other people.

"So, as children do, they began to tell each other stories. Some said that the whole of New City had been wiped out.

"Some of them said that all color copters always crashed.

One boy said there were big monsters living the in clouds, waiting for the chance to jump on them."

"In their hearts, the children realized that this couldn’t all be true, but their imaginations were beginning to run a little wild. This frightened them even more.

"Well, this went on for quite a while," said Uncle Mixey. Leaning over to be closer to the kids, he sat on the edge of his seat, with his big belly nearly tipping him off the chair.

Holding his pipe to his lips, Uncle Mixey sent up tiny puffs of wing shaped clouds in the colors of lime and peach and periwinkle.

He began to whisper, so the kids had to bend their heads toward him to hear the rest of the story.

"And then, one day, when the children’s Guardian Angels had heard all they could stand to hear without bursting, they called a meeting," he said.

At this part of the story, the Angels who were listening to Uncle Mixey began to smile.

"The meeting Angels decided to put Archangel Michael in charge, since he is especially good at protecting people and making them feel stronger.

"Pink-Shannon’s Angel, Rosalie spoke first.

"‘We know we are not supposed to be seen or heard, except when we are really needed, but I think that we are really needed now.’

"‘Yes,’ said Purple-Bailey’s Angel, Marilyn. ‘I vote that we all send the children a sign, telling them that we are always with them, so that they can stop feeling so totally alone and afraid.’

"Archangel Michael looked around at the other Angels. ‘It bends the rules,’ he said, ‘but why don’t we take a vote? All in favor of making our presence known to the Color Children raise your hand.’

"Michael smiled as all of the Angels raised their hands.

"‘Well,’ he said, ‘then that’s decided.’ Michael looked thoughtfully into a big white cloud. ‘But we should do it in a way that won’t frighten them. Something gentle.’

"‘I know,’ said Blue-Luke’s Angel, Jeremy, ‘We can choose a time and—all together—lay our hands on the children’s shoulders. If they are paying attention, they will feel their shoulders get warm and begin to send a tingle down their bodies from the lightness of our touch.’

"‘That’s a good Angel idea, Jeremy,’ said Michael. ‘And I know the perfect time to do it. How about we do it right after the end of the next story they hear?’

"The Angels began nodding their heads ‘yes.’

"‘How about at the end of all their stories?’ asked Rosalie. ‘So we can keep reminding them that we are here.’

"Hands were raised again and all the Angels agreed."

Uncle Mixey heaved himself up and sat back into his big, soft chair. He blew pink, heart-shaped wing-clouds into the air.

"And now," he said. "Every time a child hears a story, at the end of it, all they have to do is count to three and their Angel lays his or her gentle hands on their shoulders."