The boy

Here it lies, simple and plain. Swarmed by an electric green field that parts ways for the feet to comfortably walk across the sun seared concrete. There is a usual hint of browns and tans that make up the outside of the house. Stoned and bricked to stand tall and mighty amongst the nothingness. The breeze was subtle and the homeowner's wind chimes laughed as the wind danced through them. Nature rawred with disgust to its partial clearing, no matter the years that have gone by, there was still anger within the grass and trees.

 Inside the mighty home, it ached. Pierced by hands, scratched by chairs, and pulled by anger. Yet this home stood proudly quiet as the grass sways. Walking through the door it creaks with anguish to welcome in another visitor. This new person was small, she came to live amongst the heartache that the house so bravely kept within. The offer of a home tickled her imagination, it whirled her brain into believing in a family. She was a frail girl, stepping softly on the wood below her, she traced the walls with her fingers and she closed the door behind her with ease. There was a room she was meant to stay in. This room had toys, some lightly dusted and worn down over the years. The bear that sat on her bed was matted and slouched sideways. The comforter below was a dark blue, filled with a train print. She was told to stay in this room, it was now vacant, yearning for life and a new occupant. The people living here had no kids, no one to stumble around and cause a commotion, it was just the older couple. 

 The girl left her new bedroom to walk around the house. There were rectangular outlines where pictures once cascaded along the walls, but yet none to be found. A particular wall she had stumbled across had markings of heights, abruptly stopping at four foot nine. Inside the kitchen cabinets, they stacked up with colorful cups, and outback a dull swing swayed smoothly on its own. 

 The rough markings of the house seemed to be aged, the holes in the walls were poorly patched and the scratches, painted over with a similar color to the wall before. The girl knew. He was still here. There was a boy before her, he was the reason the anger remained. Everything that they went through was engraved, his items were still untouched, stiffly sitting as they were before the abrupt disappearance. The boy before her had left but came back in the form of anger. Angry at the love, angry at the laughter that once pushed through the windows and into the pastor, angry at the cold, and disgusted by the memories. He was to never leave. The boy was in the owner’s heart. He was to never leave. 

 Curiously the girl went outside to the swing, she grabbed at the rusted chains and released her body weight onto the seat. Two peering eyes from the fogged window watched her with heartache. She started to smile as her legs flung off the ground and soon laughed with excitement. Never did she have a home before, never did she know the joys of a swing. Still distantly watching her, the home owner’s opened the old white back door to let her laugh echo inside the house. A feeling of happiness crept in, there was a void that needed to be filled. 

 After a while the family joined one another outside, they played all in unfamiliar ways, each being familiar to their own. Running and jumping, hiding and singing. They found something new, they found a way to heal one another. So the girl, boy, mom, and dad all began to fill the silence outside. Yet the sun started to fade and his memory slid through the dark. The walls were still bare, the house was still arbitrarily diminished. One by one they crept to bed in silence as if the owners betrayed the boy. The girl tiptoed to her room and slid under the covers. 

 The morning was to come and the sun radiated through the windows, but yet now the silence was inside the house once more. The girl was confused, had she been left alone was her concern. But as she crept down the stairs she noticed the homeowner remorsefully holding an object. There it was, an old brown picture frame and it had seemed to be of the boy. He was young with brown hair and freckles printed all over his cheeks. The silence broke when the woman let out a sigh and rolled the drawer open to put it away. No pictures of this boy were to be seen around the house, yet he was the tension that laid on the girl's back. Walking around with him was tenacious and unforgiving to her new presence. Dragging her feet away from the woman she went back outside to the swing. Here on the swing, the clouds covered the sun and she was to swiftly do as she pleased. Here in the shade, she didn’t have to worry about the boy’s tension in his absence, because here she was blissfully appreciative of the rusted swing. 

 The family once again crept outside of the house to join her. Leaving the empty home for the now silent grass and distant wind chimes to be unrecognizable to the ear. As their noise replaced the subtle sounds of nature they joined together in the sun all sharing a similar realization to a new beginning. The family was to grow in the boy's absence outside, but yet he maintains a forever home in the aching memories of his life inside the usual brown. So as the years go on the stains where pictures once existed were covered by deep brown framed images of the girl and boy. She is now no longer his void, she is now no longer in his shadow. They now coexist in memories, both individually maintaining their own.