This could quit possibly be a FAIL
I just came up with this on the fly
Just warning you.
“My bologna has a first name; it’s O-S-C-A-R! My bologna has a second name; it’s M-A-Y-E-R! ’Cause Oscar Mayer has a way with B-O-L-O-G-N-A!” chirped the little girl as she followed her mother throughout the Packaged Meats aisle at the supermarket. With each step, her perfectly coifed auburn hair bounced about her shoulders, radiating light that counteracted the flickering fluorescent lights screwed to the ceiling. Her beautiful green dress swayed about her knees, the fabric luring one to stoke it, promising a wonderful, smooth texture. The supple skin on her face was yet more alluring, her skin emitting a pale glow. It was flawless; from the slightly pudgy pink cheeks, to the pouting lower lip, to the barely visible hairs at the end of her earlobe, she was beautiful.
We both stood there, suspended in time. Her mother continued propelling the metal shopping cart, oblivious to the fact that her daughter was no longer eagerly tagging along at her side. The outside world continued its life, but as our eyes met, and we stared intently at each other, we left the world into our own journey.
And, oh, her eyes! If any a child was blessed with gorgeous eyes, it was she. The utter innocence and purity contained in the depths of the sky-blue irises was astonishing to behold. I wished for nothing more than to dive into the deepest corner of them and immerse myself in their virtuous azure vigor. Once my gaze was locked with hers, it would not divert. It was impossible to look away from a sight of such untainted splendor.
She, the mother, was the one to end it. Her thin, manicured fingers clawed into her daughter’s shoulder, wrenching her away from my sight, a disapproving look etched on her face. The girl continued to gaze upon me for another moment, before turning back around and chasing after her mother, who was pushing the cart away from me, back down the aisle.
For a couple minutes I stood there, still haunted by the child, my feet rooted to the spotted linoleum floor. I remained in another world, perched above the real world as it continued to function beneath me.
“Sir?”
The floorboards of my world snapped, and my bulk plummeted down to the floor. I looked towards the voice and found its source: a pimple-faced boy with wearing a Safeway apron.
“Is everything all right, sir?” His eyes traveled about my body, examining my dirty and disheveled appearance, his pustule-covered face contorted with displeasure. He knelt down and began picking up the various items that were spilled from my grocery basket; inevitably it had fallen from my grasp during my trance.
I backed away slowly before turning around and dashing out of the store. Behind me I could hear the distant calls of the boy.
“Sir? Mister?”
Outside, the sun was hidden by the usual clouds, which were emitting sporadic raindrops about the cityscape. I slinked through the dark alleyways, past the tight knit groups of people, concealed by a mask of common ignorance and general unawareness. There was no moment wasted in my journey home, I was never one to meander, except at one sound.
It was the gentle harmony of a child’s voice. I could hear it in the distance. I paused for a second, listening intently, and all road noise eradicated from my mind. Then I began up the street again, in search of the source.
And then I found him: a little boy, tottering along the street next to his father, clad in a blue raincoat that was zipped up to his chin, the hood covering his most of his mat of curly black hair and framing his sweet, miniature face.
“…So I was just walkin’ and Kelly is just telling me I was runnin’ when I really wasn’t and…” His melodious voice trailed off as he watched me, staring into my face with his deep, dark eyes.
His stare began to ensnare me, pulling me in towards his smooth, unspoiled face. Before it could complete the entrancing process, I brought my hand to my face, clouting myself in the temple, sending my body sideways, into the wall of a building.
The father emotionally smacked me with a reprimanding glare before picking up his son and carrying him down the street. I sat there, my back against the building, my head resting in my hands, absorbed in my own chastisement and self-hatred.
This enmity for myself had existed for almost as long as I could recall. There was not a time that I could remember where I was contented. A section of my soul had vanished, and it was my own fault. It was all a result of my own mistakes. I was my own worst enemy, however clichéd that term was, it was true. My only solace came from the pure, from the children, those who had not sinned.
After perhaps a half an hour, I gathered myself together to the extent that I was able to complete my journey to my apartment complex. Voices from up above, on the higher floor, told me that my neighbors were having yet another house party. I desperately longed to be included in the festivities, but men who are half-missing are not invited to get-togethers.
Once in my home, I collapsed upon the couch, where I lay in deep thought, much as I did every day. Although I was tortured by my own thoughts, they were where I felt the safest. Outside, in the real world, surrounded by people, I felt that every person was partisan towards me, before they were even aware of my own story, my own personal journey. My personal journey has shaped me, made me the individual that I am today.
Even without knowledge of my life, the rest of the real world can tell that I am but half a man. Part of myself was ripped from me, crippling me for life. I erred and, for it, part of me was taken away forever. It forever haunts me.
When one looks into the eyes of a child he sees the world in the most simplest of ways. He is taken on a journey to the past, to the way things used to be. The eyes of a child are the pathway to salvation.
For me, they are also a reminder of my past. They are a reminder love, and also lost. I have tried for two decades to forget. The eyes of a child bring memories back to the front of my mind, hindering me once again.
The soft ring of the doorbell awoke me from my upsetting contemplations. It took me a second to react; it had been so long since my bell was rung that I scarcely remembered how to answer it. Gathering together what little resilience I had, I stood up and staggered over to the door, opening it cautiously.
A young man, about twenty or so, stood before me. He was approximately my height and was dressed in a worn pair of jeans and a black windbreaker. His mousy brown hair was shaggy and nearly covered his eyes. His face was round, pock-marked, and his upper lip protruded far beyond his lower one. As I looked at him, his face was eradicated of all flaw, he became the most beautiful boy I had ever seen.
Instantly, when I looked into the boy’s eyes, I felt myself transported back to the past. The eyes themselves were dull and brown. They lacked the depth of a child’s eyes, but they sparked remembrance and remorse all the same. I could scarcely look away from them.
“I’m sorry sir, but…” he smiled an insecure, nervous little smile. “Are you Jon Seaman?”
It took me a moment to decipher the meaning of his words. I continued to examine his strikingly familiar face.
“Sir?”
I brought a hand up to my face, sweeping the beads of sweat off of my forehead. “Yes, yes I am. I don’t want to sound rude, but I was taking a nap. And if you aren’t needin’ something right now, then I’ll have you ask you to leave.”
He shook his head and took a step forward, his face hopeful face illuminating the shadowed doorway. “Mr. Seaman, my name’s Vince Costigan. I’m your son.”
His eyes tempted me; I stared at them, remembering the beautiful brown eyes of a child from over a decade ago.
“I know this might seem a little strange, but I’ve always wondered if you wanted to know me. All these years without a Daddy…”
My muscles acted on their own, I wrapped the boy in between my arms, pressing his chest against mine.
“I’ve always wanted you, my son.”
And there, in my doorway, I hugged my child. And I felt the mislaid piece of my internal puzzle fall back into place. I was complete again.
