Little Boy

Little Boy

I open my eyes; it is dark. It is raining. I look down at my little boy fingers, which are wrinkled from the moisture. I flex them; they are stiff and cold. I wiggle the toes of my little boy feet, they make a squishing sound. The streetlights suddenly come on. I see my canvas Converse covered little boy feet are in a puddle, they are wet and getting cold. The little tsunamis created from my wiggling are now making their way to asphalt beaches, to crash and create havoc on tiny unseen worlds. I look up and see beautifully colored red, blue, purple, and yes even yellow raindrops slipping through the air to kiss my upturned face. I look down at the long empty double row of houses that seem to stretch to eternity. I run my little boy fingers through my close cropped little boy hair, and I start forward. I see light shining through curtained windows, there is no one home. Movement draws my green little boy’s eyes to the right, it is the flickering shadows that can only be a television set. The only sounds to be heard are the raindrops drumming off of the rooftops and the rasping sound of my little boy Levi’s moving in concert with some unknown symphony. It would be nice to be inside, dry and warm. I see an inviting light from  side door window with the curtains open. I look in and see the remnants of a freshly eaten meal on the table, steam still rising from an almost untouched platter of greens. I lightly knock; no one answers. I try the knob, anticipation is filling my empty belly, it is locked. I knew it would be; there will be no open doors for me this night. I turn to go, the smell of rare roast beef follows me as I continue down the street. I sense something behind me in the bushes. It is big, it is heavy, it is evil. And it is incredibly fast. I turn to look, I can see nothing. I am no longer capable of fear. As I turn forward, I am startled to see and hear an angry man hunched over a little boy yelling at him in a language that I cannot understand. As I pass by, I want to grab the man, shake him! And tell him “Stop! Can’t you see that nothing will ever be the same?!” I cannot. I could have when I was bigger. They do not see me as I pass by, too caught up in their own little drama. I continue on my way occasionally glancing in through the beautifully beveled glass windows at scenes like still photographs. A candlelit dinner for two, replete with a white rose in a vase. A warm-looking living room with the furniture arranged in a semi-circle around a white oak entertainment center in another. Steam rising off a soapy sink load of dishes in yet another. Sounds of soft filtered jazz reach my ears. It has stopped raining; there is moisture on my cheeks. I glance back and see only an empty, yellow, oblong pool of light reflecting off the glistening asphalt where the angry man and his little boy stood. I pull up the collar of my little boy’s jacket, shrug my shoulders and go forward; the only way I know. End.