The Boy

The Boy

A short story by Clarice Limbaro

Disclaimer: I do not own this photo. Special credits to Jan H. Andersen. You can see his many amazing photos by clicking on this site: http://www.jhandersen.com.

There was a person, who, despite being a young male for a series of years, wasn't given a name when he came out from his mother's world and breathed air. Even as he grew up, no one bothered to name him, and when they do, they refer to the boy as 'him'.

But he didn't let his feet stay in the house, for he was swiftly locking the door with the key his mother had left him, and threw the tiny glittering object to a nearby dry well, where it fell with a barely audible clunk.

It was a happy feeling. He was free from the house and the memories he wanted to forget. Free from the walls constantly telling him to venture out and live his life. It must have been his mother telling him. Glancing back at the door, he jumped over the fence with a boy's gaiety instead of using the gate normally like his neighbor. In this place, it was surprising to see two houses sticking so close to each other. Most of the houses were literally a distance away from each other.

When the lad started to lock the gate for the joy of it, the neighbor hesitantly approached him. The neighbor cleared her throat.

"I'm really sorry for your mother's death, dear lad." As far as she can remember, she saw the lad sneaking out from the house at midnight, or at times where his mother was all alone. She tensed whenever she remember the times when Josephine was struck with the fever; her son never really cared for her.

Much to her annoyance, he smiled at her. "I don't know how to respond to that, but it's okay." The huge lock was finally settled, and heaving a sigh he quickly pushed both of his hands into his pocket, and started to whistle an unfamiliar tune.

The woman's face was mixed with feigned concern, but she did have her doubts. Her voice was strained as she forced herself to say something. "I do wonder though why your mother wasn't able to name you." She looked at the lad's eyes and looked away, annoyed.

His expression hadn't changed: carefree as always. She cleared her throat again, and asked slowly, "Haven't you ever wondered about that?"

"Hmm...actually I wasn't. If mother wasn't thinking about naming me, that's fine by me."

She stared at him. This young lad has a weird way of coping with the loss of his mother. And he didn't seem to be bothered by those kind of questions. Her first intention was simply saying her condolences to him, but her other side got the better of her, and so she asked, in a rushed manner, "Wasn't there anything that your mother left for you?"

He stared up at the sky, and grinned. "She did."

"What is it?"

"This." He pulled up his left sleeve, revealing a small leather pocket strapped around with a band on his arm. He took the pocket, opened the cover, and pulled out a folded knife.

She couldn't keep herself from asking. "She gave you that? And to you, who is only a 12-year-old?"

The lad's usual cheery expression changed to that of a befuddled one. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"There is! You are carrying a knife, an object that might bring injury to others or even to yourself!" She fears that the boy might injure others rather than his own, for she did saw a brawl that happened years ago.

His expression became more confused, and slowly he glanced up at the sky, then down to the knife in his hand, and back to the sky again. His mother hadn't told him about the knife, but she smiled instead. He smiled at the memory of it, and had imagined his mother smiling down at him from up the clouds.

Like a man confronting a lie, he faced the neighbor, and said loudly, "My mother has reasons for this knife. Fortunately, she was able to give it to me personally and I'm off to know those reasons. I have my reasons, too." He bowed down his head a bit, turned around swiftly and started to walk away from the woman, who remained staring at him with disbelief.

"And where are you going?"

"To the place where people haven't explored yet!"

As the unnamed lad's figure started to get smaller from the distance that he attained, the woman kept on staring, until there was nothing left for her to see except a moving speck of a shadow. Sighing, she tiredly pulled opened her gate and went inside. The boy might be out to find his father, she thought as her hand roughly pushed the door open.