"Sir?"
"I'm visiting my son." I close the door behind me. The sky is dark black, the stars painted with faces screaming at my house. I put in my earbuds and begin listening to the six songs I put on my playlist only a few minutes back.
My son lives down the road, and memories of us playing together flow back as I travel the dirt walkway. He was so popular...my smile falls. And then they forgot about him.
I walk in without knocking. He's bent, old. Almost as if he's older than me. He doesn't have to watch a Screen, but he does have ear plugs in his ears, noise spilling in through them from supplications and messages filtered in from his secretary, Bethel.
She's nowhere in sight.
My son is sitting at his kitchen table when he looks up. He says loudly, "WHERE IS THE BOY?"
He can only hear me, no one else, through the noise in his ears.
So I reply, "Back home. He deserves rest. He's only human."
"I'VE BEEN LISTENING TO THE CONVERSATIONS OF THOSE TWO BELOW." He says solemnly, head in his hands. "AND THE TWO THAT VISITED. THEY SEEM NEAR. THE VERY FACT THAT THEY'RE WAITING AT THAT TREE..."
"It's not enough."
He's silent for a moment.
"YES. I SUPPOSE YOU'RE RIGHT."
"Hm."
"WILL YOU SEND THE BOY TO SPEAK TO THEM?"
"Yes. But I doubt they will understand what he's meaning."
"YOU'VE BEEN ERASING HIS MEMORY?"
"It'd be a problem for those at the tree and him if he didn't become new every now and then, right?"
I've found that as the years pass, as those two wait, The Boy must continue being new, open--otherwise he would be thrown out like my son. They aren't willing to see something old--they need new surprises. I wouldn't want anyone else to be hurt like my son.
"How're you holding up?"
My son only smiles softly. "I THINK IT'S TIME YOU HEADED BACK, OLD MAN."
I try to smile.
But I can tell he's in pain. For them.
No comments:
Post a Comment