I have snatched a small piece of eternity. On a warm autumn day in 2002, I was photographing a small herd of goats at a local zoo. An infant boy wearing a blue and white striped cap, a dark blue t-shirt, and a white bib with a reindeer print, was being held upright by his father as he patted the goats. He smiled into my camera as he did so, but at the time I had failed to see him. Only now while looking through old photos do I notice him trying to make eye contact, to share his joy.
He must be about ten-years old now. His father probably reminds him to do his homework, pick up his toys, or finish his dinner. He must have been grounded once or twice by now. He might have begged his father to buy him the latest games, to let him stay up late at night, or that he’s old enough to own a cell phone.
I imagine him playing baseball or soccer, all legs and arms flying about the field; maybe he prefers science, loaded down with books and a chemistry set; perhaps he’s more into the arts, sculpting with modelling clay or writing comic books. But then again, possibly I presume too much; maybe he is not playing sports, not discovering new things, and not creating new realities.
Perhaps now, or even long ago, he no longer exists at all, he has departed to an ethereal adventure; but I don’t like to think so, not at all.
YOU ARE READING
Speaking in Mirrors
Short StoryIllustrated short stories. Seeking connections, a glimpse or a sigh; stale hotdogs and greasy beef jerky; reincarnation and landfills; King for the day; whiskey, lacquered hair and keeping happiness – tall tales of a small city.
