FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #6

Almost everyone thought the man and the boy were father and son. They sat on a wooden bench, staring. The cool, spring air tickled the boy’s spine. He shuddered. The old man merely sat, concentrating. Pockets of blue wriggled from behind the trees, while a crimson-leafed canopy concealed the yolky sun. The old man merely sat, concentrating. A young girl skipped along the path, pointing to the carousal. The boy smiled. The girl’s mother jogged behind, smiling. The old man merely sat, concentrating. The trees rustled, shedding their twigs. The boy watched a squirrel scuttle up a tree.

 

“I should like to be a squirrel,” the boy said.

 

The old man merely sat, concentrating.

 

“It would be fun, I presume. Free to scurry about the grass and—” The boy paused. He looked at the man who sat and who concentrated.

 

“Oh, and the quickness! I should like to scurry up a tree like the squirrel. Wouldn’t you like to climb trees and collect nuts? Cashews perhaps. I have always fancied cashews,” the boy continued.

 

The old man merely sat, concentrating.

 

A couple of college kids leapt around the pathway, giggling about girls and teasing about teachers. They saw the boy and the old man sitting and fell silent. They lowered their heads, then continued on their way.

 

“I should like to be a college kid,” the boy said.

 

The old man merely sat, concentrating.

 

“It would be exciting, I presume. I should like to dance with girls and learn things. It would be nice to learn things. Not just college things, but important things like how to make money and buy nice shirts. I’d learn school things too, I guess. Spend a few nights studying ‘rithmatic and books. Do you read books?” The boy asked.

 

The old man merely sat, concentrating.

 

The shadows shifted as the sun crept higher in the sky. A businessman trotted by in a stiff, awkward run. As he sprung from left foot to right, a coin bounced out of his pocket.

 

“I should like to be a businessman. I would be rich, I presume. I could run through Central Park and drop a coin, but afford to keep running,” The boy said.

 

The old man merely sat, concentrating.

 

The boy bit his lip. He squeezed his toes and blinked. He looked towards the old man who sat and who concentrated. The boy bounded to his feet, and picked up the coin.

 

Returning to the bench, he said, “It landed heads up, a sign of luck. Fancy that.”

 

He looked to the man for a sign of disapproval. He saw only a wrinkled face and flat lips and distant eyes cemented to his face.

 

“Is it a sin to take this lucky coin? Shall I leave it for others who need the luck more than I?” The boy asked. Then he thought of his mother who scolds him for being ungrateful.

 

The old man merely sat, concentrating.

 

“‘Count your blessings,’ she says,” The boy remembered. “To be honest, though, I sometimes forget what comes after eleven, and seven and eight I usually switch. Do you think it matters? You know, if I confuse my numbers?”

 

The old man merely sat, concentrating.

 

The subtle hills encircled the old man and the boy, guarding against the blares of taxis and whistles of subways. The sun started to fall again.

 

“If you don’t mind my asking, sir, did you fight in a war? I should like to be a soldier. It would be dramatic, I presume. Constantly fearing for my life, dashing in front of bullets to save my comrades. I could be greatly decorated with silvers and stars and ribbons,” the boy said.

 

The old man merely sat, concentrating.

 

A starling flittered by, collecting loose twigs. He chirped twice, singing for the sky and the sun and the crimson trees.

 

“I should like to be a starling,” said the boy. “It would be pleasant, I presume. I could skim across the trees and coast with the wind. I would have no mother to obey and no father whom to please. I would scavenge for acorns and worms and peep beautiful melodies. Of course, they wouldn't compare to Beethoven or Bach, but a simple tune should stretch a smile across a child’s face.”

 

The old man merely sat, concentrating.

 

There was silence. The boy looked where the man looked. He saw grass and small hill, leaf and shrub, path and dirt and sky.

 

“I do not understand you, Old Man. Your wrinkled cheeks speak years of wisdom. Your gray eyes tell stories of triumph and defeat. Lessons for life inch across your forehead and dance around your nose like the speckles of dust beneath the kitchen lights. You know all to know and have seen all to see. Can you not raise a lip to utter a single counsel? On to what do you channel your attention?”

 

The old man merely sat, concentrating.

 

The boy gave up, sitting silently on a wooden bench. The old man sat and he concentrated. The wind whined, crinkling the salmon-streaked sky. The sun gathered its warmth and slipped silently behind the horizon. The entire New York hustled, preparing for its after-hours show. The streets grumbled. The buildings shrieked.

 

“I should like to be a rock. It would be peaceful, I presume. Imagine the smoothness of skin and the patience. It would be nice to have such patience,” the boy said.

 

The old man merely sat, concentrating.

 

“I should like to be an old man. It would be simple, I presume. It would be nice to know things and have no obligations. I have obligations, you see. For instance, if I do not return home soon I shall be scolded. I should like to sit in park benches and tell stories. But you are an old man and you do not tell stories.”

 

The old man merely sat, concentrating.

 

The boy stood up and faced the old man. He looked at him. He hadn’t noticed the cuts below his left eye or the liver spots on his temples. He hadn’t noticed the untamed hair on his chin or the lines shaping his lips in a half-smile. He hadn’t noticed the way his eyebrows arched, resembling curiosity, or the way he blinked quickly, so not to miss any of the brilliant earth whirling by. And he absolutely hadn’t noticed the presence in his gray eyes. The wind slowed to a soft, spring breeze. The starlings burrowed in their nests and the squirrels nestled for warmth. The speckles of dust drifted to the earth, ready for sleep. The boy sat back down.

 

The old man merely sat, concentrating.

 

The boy merely sat, concentrating. When he blinked, he blinked quickly.

 

“You have learned well,” the old man whispered.           

back to Contest #6