When the moon cries

"The boy"

“He is here again!” The whimsical voice called out.

“Hmm?” The blond head lifted upwards.

 Erwin peered over the counter. He placed the sheet of freshly baked muffins down, on the marble slab specially designed for them.

There sitting next to the window was “the boy.” Neither he nor his companion and coworker knew how old “the boy” was. He looked young. Maybe just out of high school? Maybe not. Erwin smiled to himself.

 He watched as “the boy” draw out a ragged coin purse. He carefully held it so that it wouldn’t fall apart, spilling all of its contents over their wooden floor. He rested the back of the hand holding the pouch, against the table. Counting, with his tongue sticking slightly out between his thin lips, he set the exact amount of change in a pile on the table. It was the right price for one medium coffee, no sugar, one cream, coffee and nothing else.

Withdrawing his tongue, “the boy” tucked the money pouch away again. He glanced, a bit nervously, around. There were no other customers in the shop. There never were when he arrived. It was as if he waited for the doors to open so he would be the first one inside.

As the two coworkers watched, “the boy” drew out a battered laptop computer. The chrome was scratched, there were some chunks taken out of the side. A gapping hole showed where there used to be a USB port. It was down to only one now. As “the boy” opened the device, the first thing you saw was the duck tape over the camera part. It was a large square of grey that sort of slapped you in the face. The next thing was how few keys were actually on the keyboard. Yet, he managed to turn the thing on, and type on it.

In fact that was what he did. All day, nearly every day, for a week straight. So far, at least. Erwin sighed. He wondered if the kid was ok. As battered as the laptop was, it was nothing when you took in the condition of “the boy.” He was tall, thin, his face was slightly sunken in., with new and old bruises in various places. His hands looked to large for his frame. Then, there was the clothing.

He wore an old drab green army coat. The back had a battered blue design on it. It was nearly all peeled off. There was no way of telling just what it may have been. Most of the pockets were ripped, or haphazardly sewn together. His hair, although long, was pulled back in a man bun style.

He had unusual eyes. What Erwin’s mother would have called “bedroom eyes.” They were a bright greenish blue. There was a piercing quality to them. “The boy” never looked at any one thing for long. His gaze appeared to dart around trying to take in every detail of a place

. His jeans were three inches too short for him, showing off bare ankles and more bruises. His feet were large, crammed into black boots with torn and frayed laces.

Erwin wondered what his story was. Yet, no matter how much he tried, the boy just wouldn’t talk to him. He had gone over on the first day the boy arrived at their little humble shop. It was a quaint little place. They were new to the area, so hadn’t built up any real regular customer base yet. The boy just stated his order looking blankly, if Erwin asked anything else.

The shop was clean. The chrome appliances sparkled. The lightening was perfect. The windows were large floor to ceiling things. Not a streak was seen on them. No blemish covered a single spot upon their bright clear glass. The owner would kill them all if that were the case.