See A Boy

I'm baaaack! My first real post in 4 months. To get going again I'm posting this short story I wrote a few weeks ago when I should've been doing math homework. Don't look at me like that. It's a good story, okay? So here it is for your enjoyment.

See a boy, falling. Falling falling falling to the cold streets and left behind. See him on the ground there? Hair falling in his eyes, gritting his teeth against the gravel in his palms. See him slowly rising? A deep breath and he stands again, wiping the sting of his flesh off on his jeans. See in his eyes the tired resignation of a boy destined to be abandoned. But as he glances up, there’s a flash behind his irises. Anger? No, it’s too cold to be anger. Determination, perhaps. In the squaring of his shoulders, he picks his heart up off the ground and disappears into the grimed glittery streets of the city.

See a boy, leaning. “An apple never falls far from the tree”. Or maybe it was “a tree falls the way it leans”. He can never remember. But do you see him? Hands in his pockets, hood up but not enough to protect his face from the soft mist as he watches the passerby. That cold determination doesn’t leave his face now. Softens, sometimes, but never goes away. His palms are fine. His knuckles are bloody. He sees a city more broken than the shard of ice in his chest and has decided this will be his home. He has nothing left to lose and that gives him strength he couldn’t find before. Do you see him? Right across the street, leaning up against the brick wall, just as his eyes meet you. Part of you says “help him” and the other says “danger”. You’re smart. You walk away, the picture of him lingering in your head, but when you glance back, he’s gone.

See a boy living. There he is again, he’s always around somewhere. Enough that you don’t recognize him until he’s darted right past you, slipping among the crowds. A different hoodie this time, he chews on the string as he waits for the sun to set. Can you see him? Thinner now, but stronger. He smiles more often now. So instead of “help him” you hear “trouble”. You’re smart. You stay away. But this time when you look back, he’s still there.

See a boy, laughing. Talking to a small child, her mother looking on with part wariness and part amusement as her daughter acts out a story for him. He laughs and laughs. Then when her little dark fist hits him indignantly in the arm, he falls back dramatically, feigning wounded. He’s much more comfortable in his skin now than he was before. Do you see him? Shaking the mother’s hand, then disappearing before the girl turns back around. You remember that feeling. He’s always disappearing, though he doesn’t have anywhere to go. He doesn’t have much, but it’s enough. He’s always hungry, but it’s because he’s a boy, not because he doesn’t have enough to eat.

See a boy, thriving. He’s more of a man now, than a boy. No family, no gang at his back, no one to hold him up. But as far as you can tell there’s no one to tear him down either. The vendors know him by name, though you can never quite catch what it is. He walks now, through the crowd like the space he takes up isn’t borrowed, but his. He’s confident. He picked himself up off the pavement and now he’s living like he never felt the impact. A girl walks to school, and when that man sees him nearby, she’s left alone. He smiles when he feels like it. He helps people and they help him back, but he never ties down. You envy his freedom. Can’t you see him there? Standing by the rail, stretching his arms in the first sun the city has seen in months. His hair is longer. Another new hoodie. Different shoelaces maybe. You still hear “trouble” in the back of your mind when you look at him, but you also hear “protector”. “Happy”, and sometimes even “content”.

See a boy, approaching. You dropped your things, again. Maybe on purpose, maybe not. He was watching when it happened. Maybe on purpose, maybe not. But when his hand reaches in your field of vision to pick up your book, you’re still surprised. There a are a few scars on his knuckles. But when you meet his eyes, “trouble” doesn’t even bother to sound. Don’t you see him? He’s right in front of you after all, he’d be hard to miss. Hood slipped off his head, eyes smiling as he offers you the book. You’re smart. But maybe not smart enough. And as you take it, you smile back.

See a boy, real. Living, breathing, and closer than you thought he’d ever get. You thank him. He just nods and smiles. You dare to ask his name. But that’s a story for another day. So for now, just see him. The cold in his eyes is gone now, and he seems warmer in general, like the ice shard of his heart has been replaced with something you want to be a part of. You’re smart. But maybe when he offers to walk you to school, maybe you say yes. Maybe you take the chance and meet the boy, the boy falling.