child & broken house

I am walking up the hill to visit an old friend, an old love. I am inside his house along with a group of other people, mainly youth. I am the outsider but I am interested in seeing where he lives and what he is up to. I take a seat with the group, around a table in a space upstairs looking over the living space and divided from the living area only by the height difference and a large bookshelf with square holes to house books and ornaments. I am sitting with my back against the wall, facing the bookshelf, and can see through the square holes, down to the room below and the street outside the house. A small animal or child (I am not sure which) edges along the other side of the table, to a particular shelf in the bookcase and begins to push the ornaments – red glasses and crystal vases – out of the hole so that he can sit on the shelf. My friend catches the ornaments as they are dislodged, patient with the creature and kind. Suddenly, the animal/child dislodges something crucial to the structure of the house and everything begins to fall down; the upper room, the bookshelf, the table and all of the ornaments, avalanching down the walls and landing in the living space below. Smashing and crashing sounds fill the room for a moment. Everyone is alright but the house is wrecked. Broken glass and shelves are everywhere. The child (that is now definitely a small boy) is standing, pale and abashed. I ask him if he would like me to hold him, and he curls up on my lap. I cradle him in my arms, against my chest, and rock gently. He is upset and I tell him that it is OK, mistakes happen. Everything will be alright.