simply me

little laughs

I stood in the world with my eyes open and my ears listening. My hair whipping around my cheeks as I watched the world pass by. And guess what. The world didn't stop. It didn't stop spinning. It's people didn't stop walking, running or dancing. No one stopped talking, yelling, or singing. Nor did anyone's footsteps not make noises, and almost everyone's heart kept beating. I think that was the worst part, not the hearts beating, the sirens that invaded my ears and signaled that hearts had stopped their lovely songs. As I stood on the roof of the old building I yelled, I screamed and shouted to the almighty heavens. That day my heart broke a little, because if the world wouldn't even slow down for me what was I? Then, just then I realized that I was just like everyone else in my own way. My heart had its song, no my heart had a symphony. My lungs had their breaths and my mind had it's voices. For once in my life the wetness in my eyes dripped down my face leaving streaks on my red cheeks. For the first time I felt a deep resounding nothingness, and I found nothing hurt. I was human like everyone else. I walked down the iron stairs, my footsteps loudly clanging along to the rest of the chaos we call life. Then I heard a sound, the sound of pure happiness and joy. The boyish laughter of childhood. It's joyful peals bounced of the sides of my heart. As I rounded a corner so that I may leave the building I found my first salvation.

That day I met a boy and his father. They did not know who I was or what I felt but they understood something I didn't. That feeling of happiness that reaches through your heart and grasp your mind. The kind that makes you double over in joyous laughter. The boy and father hands the small fingers of the boy crossed over the large calloused hands of the held that were covered in grease.the origin of the laughter had been found as the father was making faces at his boy. Wrapped in a scarf much to big and much to dirty the boy's laughter died down a bit and he buried his face in the red scarf. His freckles peeked over the edge of the thick - knit scarf the blond hair that curved behind his ears fell and covered his eyes.

In the eyes that radiated joy you could see so much more. Like the eyes told a tale with their green pools of joy . One of happiness but also loneliness and many restless nights waiting to see the other set of eyes. The other set told a tale of its own they were dark blue like the ocean had been dumped into his iris. These ones told a tale of lost love and the pain of leaving his son every day. His worker uniform only made this more evident.

I walked over to the two and introduced myself to them. The father and I exchanged names and other pleasantries. After which the boy deemed time for his intro and told me his name. Soon me and the boy had sat down his father following suit. Within ten minutes his father invited me in for tea which I grateful excepted. In their home the smell of nutmeg and honey washed over me immediately. The boy called out for his grandmother and I wondered how the smell seemed so in place here. The boy came back with a little old lady, her arm looped through his own. When she saw me she smiled.

That was the day the world gave me an angel and a camera. The little old lady and the young boy sat next to me. The boy told me all about himself and asked all about me. After learning I was a writer the boy insisted upon a story. As I declined though the little frail woman placed her hand on my wrist and joined the boy in the insistence of a fairy tale. So I told one:

Once upon a time there was a boy. His name was Findley and his heart was the kindest of all. He smiled at everyone and he never cried. He knew crying did him no good and only brought with it sadness and insanity. Then one day Findley saw something truly horrible. A man was chasing a girl through the streets calling after her from atop his horse. She is a witch he screamed other soon joined him in chasing the girl. They had caught her and tied her to a wooden stake, the man who chase her brought a knife out of hid cloak and grasped her long hair cutting it short. Findley could stand it no longer. He ran forward and jumped in front of the lady. Why? He growled. Why have you done this to her? It is so awful and cruel. God made us all his children and she is one of them. Why do you insist upon killing her innocence and God's beautiful creation. Who gave you the right? He was trembling in anger his eyes dropped tears and his smile was long gone. What ever did the people do without his joy? They simply all dropped their weapons and stated at the very boy who's smile was like the sun pull ropes off of a girl who was blamed of witch craft and would have died. The villagers soon got a thought. This boy had stopped all of them. He must be evil, he must be a demon or an witch in disguise. After all who would stop the burning of a witch other than a monster? They all rushed forward and grabbed the boy, pulling his ankles and wrist around the stake. They all thought his beauty to much and tied him back with silk fabric hems off of the ladies dresses. You are a monster they yelled at him. You are a beast and nothing more! The more they said the more he cried. He cried because he knew that these people were making a monster out of him. They lit the boy aflame, but just as soon as they did the sky poured down rain and a light fell from the heavens. I give you a blessing, an angel, and you kill him. You call him monster and beast. You blame him for his lack of joy bringing you sadness. God's voice bellowed out. His might apparent as he reached into the dying flames and untied the silk from the boy's body. God then lifted him into his arms and brushed ash off of the boy's forehead, healing the boy as he did so. Findley leaned up out of his father's arms and stood before the crowd wings spread and whispered to them. He said may you find love, happiness, and light that is brighter than the heavens because in life you may only have one test of faith.

I had finished my story, oh how funny I find it, I a man of little faith told a story of God and his angel. But looking over at the boy then at his grandmother my amusement died entirely. Both boy and woman had tears in their eyes. What beautiful words the old woman cried out. What a sad tale she shook her head and stood from the table. Only a few minutes later she handed me a leather case and told me to open it. Inside lay a camera, an old one with several extra rolls of film, and a bundled up envelope. Inside the envelope lay pictures that only had shades of black and white with one thing very peculiar red showed up too. "Take the camera and the pictures. You boy will change the way people see the world just because of how you see it. Live, my dear boy, live."

The first picture I took was of the little boy drowning in a red scarf smiling his sun shine smile.