The boy stood at the corner of Main Street between the cracks of the concrete sidewalk (being careful not to break his mother’s back), fiddling with his fingers and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, his bony knees periodically bumping under his tight, blue athletic shorts. He was beaming with pride at his hero, who was patiently waiting on the curb further down the block. His father, adorned in a fine brown three-piece suit and freshly shined wing tip shoes, glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, fighting uselessly to keep his mouth from twitching into a playful smirk. The boy giggled, and his bony chest filled with warmth, his heart rate accelerating, for he knew what was going on. His father’s grin faltered, sensing the boy’s anticipation, knowing full well that he knew much more than he should, despite the fact that neither had spoken a word about it during the boy’s still young life.
It was a youth lived in simpler times; where the distractions of modern technology had no more to offer than a color tube television, a microwave oven and a transportable cassette player with headphones. Time was spent mostly in the backyard throwing crab apples at the neighborhood kids, or running freely down the alleyways that mapped his entire world together. The short intervals inside the house were for either eating meals as quickly as possible, so he could return to the mischief that awaited him outside, or harassing his baby sister. He was enamored and in awe of her; old enough to register her life and relation, yet far too young to grasp how this life was created or imagine what it might blossom into. The boy believed with the utmost certainty that he understood all the world had to offer, while his little sister still housed eyes of the purest innocence and muttered unintelligible words for attention.
Both children worshiped their father, and clung to him like a joey in the pouch of their mother. In the early years, he carryied his bright-eyed daughter in one arm while pulling the boy hand-in-hand along with him. As the years went on it was the boy dragging his father up the stairs, down the stairs, outside, down the street, wanting to share everything he could with his idol. When the boy thought he was big enough to be making his own decisions, he made a habit of sneaking after his father when he left home on business to the nearby markets, bars or restaurants, though he was never brave enough to enter into these establishments. This is why he loved the local barbershop, where his father sat outside with his friends on metal folding chairs to talk and allowed the boy to lurk nearby.
In the midst of this overcast, cool afternoon, the boy had slowly made his way down the block to the weathered brick wall of the local hardware store, closer now to his father, gazing upon him as his tie and suit were being straightened by his best friend who was wearing an equally sharp blue suit. His father’s dark, freshly groomed hair seemed to shine from the sunlight, despite the fact clouds had covered the city for weeks. Maybe it was simply his father’s smile that was so bright, or the gleam in his eyes for his son. The boy watched his father pull down on his lapels with a tight snap and then open the door to the backseat of a sky blue sedan. He took a concentrated moment to turn his head and wink at the boy before he slid on to the cracked leather seat and shut the door. The man in the driver’s seat wore a black brimmed hat. The boy had seen him from time to time in the past, but didn’t know his name, only that he was important. A smirk emanated from the boy’s face, sensing this to be a momentous occasion. His father’s best friend jogged around the back of the car, opened the door and slid in to the backseat next to him. The man with the black brimmed hat started up the car, a poof of smoke shooting out the exhaust pipe. The car smoothly and quietly pulled away from the curb and started down the street.
The boy looked around the neighborhood block, knowing he was intrinsically cooler than any other kid walking around with their pedestrian parents. What did they have that was so special? Certainly nothing like what his father had. He crossed his arms with the confidence of a star athlete from the local high school, set to pick up the prettiest girl at the school dance. But the boy had no thoughts of girls at this stage in his life. He had his father, his baby sister and his two best friends, and that was all he needed.
The boy turned his attention back to the light blue sedan driving off into the distance. It seemed to be gliding so slowly that a dozen memories had already played out in his mind’s eye. He was in mid-memory of a dangerous prank he and the twins had recently played when the car he was so intently watching, slowly pulled over to the curb. Had they forgotten something? Were they picking up another friend? Within that moment it seemed to the boy as if he had the sight of a hawk, able to see two blocks down the street, straight through the back window of the sedan.
Pop!
The boy’s heart jumped in his chest as his father’s best friend’s head ricocheted against the rear window, as red sludge slowly slid down the glass behind him. He saw his father dive towards the driver.
Pop! Pop!
The first shot sent his father flying back agaisnt the seat. The second painted the rest of the back windshield with thick, red ooze. The world fell silent. The boy could no longer hear, no longer see, no longer comprehend any physical action in the world around him. What had just happened? What could he have misunderstood? His father…he couldn’t possibly be…
The man with the black brimmed hat moved deftly and quickly, out of the car and away from the scene. The boy’s eyes darted around his sockets, his breath lodged in his throat. There was no one else around. The streets were magically empty. Was the man coming in his direction? The boys’ bearings had instantly disappeared, like a light switch turning off. Where was he? Was this a dream? The boy felt fear; real fear, unlike anything he could have ever comprehended in his life up to this moment. He had no time, nor the state of mind to fully process the tragedy or the fear radiating through his bones. The man popped back into view and was now most certaintly approaching him, with a savage intenstity radiating from his eyes. Just as quickly as the boys’ bearings had disappeared, primal insctinct took over, as the boy turned and sprinted down the block and around the corner.
The boy knew these blocks as well as he knew his own feet at the end of his legs that were now running faster than any boy had ever run before. Across the street he ran, through the backyard of the elderly couple with the rose bushes, over their red picket fence and continued to flee, one backyard after another, running for his life. ‘Why would he be coming after me?’ was the first conscious thought to enter his mind, as his feet fell hard upong the grasses of his neighbor’s yards. He climbed over the wired fence that enclosed the back yard of the family with the three boys who played hockey, unsure if he had a place he was running to, or if he was simply running away.
‘That’s it!’ His eyes lit up when he thought of the spot that no one had ever found him in during the endless games of war, ding-dong ditch or flashlight tag he and his friends played. Underneath the brown, rotting deck in the backyard of the tall white house that looked like an old church was the place. The concrete slide was what he and his friends called it. With the details of this safe haven playing out in his mind, the boy realized he had not looked over his shoulder a single time since sprinting away in fear of his life. Was he actually running from anyone at this point? Would he hear another pop if he turned around? The boy decided he did not want to find out and took a sharp left, changing his trajectory to the path of his hiding spot.
Just as he reached the backyard of the church house, the boy knew he had to look back and see if the man with the black brimmed hat was in sight. If he was, the area at the bottom of the concrete slide was a dead end; no way out. The boy grabbed the dirty white wood corner of the house, swung around behind it and cautiously peered back the way he had come from. His heart seemed to stop momentarily as his eyes surveyed the land. He was a short sprint from his hiding spot now and no one was approaching. Did he have time to make the dash to safety before being spotted? Without hesitation, the boy darted towards the deteriorating deck, dove underneath it and slid down the concrete slide.
‘Stop breathing! You’re breathing too loud’, he told himself, trying his best to keep his vocal emanations to a minimum. The boy waited, listening and looking for a sign; a sign that the man in the black brimmed hat had been caught, or a sign to close his eyes and pray.
Waiting in the silence of his hushed breathing, the heavy weight of reality fell hard upon him. My father…it can’t possibly be true. The boy shook his head, fighting back tears of disbelief, confusion and anger. As he was recalling the vivid image of his father’s smirk and wink, a sound, or perhaps a premonition, snatched his attention. The boy’s entire body went rigid with fear, his heart pounding was the only movement inside or outside of his body. In the distance, he heard muffled voices. The boys’ keen hearing told him that the voices were about a block away. He always knew how far away his friends were during their games, and could judge whether or not he had time to flee to a new hiding spot.
He had time. If he were to run for a new hiding spot, the time was now. Just as he began to raise his head, contemplating the move, a voice cut him down with fear.
“Where are you, boy?”
The boy had never experienced such unbridled fear as he did in that very moment. It was as if a ghost was standing right behind him, whispering death poems in his ears. How had he not heard the man approaching? It had to be the man in the black brimmed hat. He knew his voice and it sounded just like him, only with an undercurrent of malice.
“Come on out now. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The boy could see just enough over ground level to see the man one yard over, his long black coat coming closer, directly towards him. It was him, the man with the black brimmed hat. Yet, he was still not close enough to possibly see him. Was he?
Pop!
The boy scrunched down as far as he could, grinding his teeth as he began pray. Where was he shooting?
Pop!
The boy’s heart tried to escape through his throat. The gun shots seemed to be travelling in a different direction. The boy knew that if he was spotted, it was over. He swallowed his heart back into his chest, and with whatever survival instinct he possessed, he slowly crept up the concrete slide to look over the grassy horizon. The man with the black brimmed hat was slowly turning in a circle, surveying the area around him.
Pop!
Was the man simply firing at random, the boy wondered, hoping to flush him out, to scare him, to get lucky and hit him?
The man stopped cold, his body facing directly at the boy. Did he see him? He took one stop closer and…
“Hold it!”
It was another voice, and whoever it came from was close. The man in the black brimmed hat turned to the direction of the voice and froze. The boy watched with his eagle eye as he saw the man raise his arm, taking in every detail of that black metal pistol.
“Don’t move!”
“Drop the gun!”
The boy was being rescued. Wasn’t he? If so, how could the feeling of being rescued incite such terror? Perhaps it was because the only man with a pistol he could actually see was the man in the black brimmed hat and he was standing closer to him than anyone else.
The man slowly began to lower the gun as he turned back in the direction of the concrete slide, and began slowly walking towards the boy.
“Stop!”
The man in the black brimmed hat narrowed his eyes. He saw him. He was caught. The pistol began to rise once again.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
The boy jumped and covered his head, his heart battering against his ribcage. Were these shots at him? Was he hit? What did it feel like to be shot? The man with the black brimmed hat dropped to his knees, blood soaking through the white dress shirt under the overcoat. That’s when the boy saw his face. The man’s face who had taken his…but he couldn’t have. But he did.
The man collapsed forward onto the ground, as the dark brimmed hat rolled off his head. Footsteps running on the grass were all he heard, as he began to fade off…into a dream, from a dream, to sleep…
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