the conversation

July 5, 2015 § Leave a comment

kids talk

He stared at the ball—the look of his face was irritated, almost mad.
In a split second he kicked. And kicked again. Another kick. Harder. Faster. Until his feet felt burnt and his body shook. The ball was still on its place, but the wall near it now was badly stained. Maybe the last BIG kick would collapse the wall, and then perhaps the rush feeling to beat THAT kid could subside…

He still remembered how the jock of their school mocked—for the hundredth time— ”Seriously, what exactly are you doing? You better play throw-and-catch, not soccer, knucklehead. Go with your baby-friends. Or you want to make us laugh after the play? Sure, then stay. We’d love to see it.”

He would never forget how then the other kids laughed at him crazily. He wanted to beat the jock so badly. He wanted to give him learn. He dreamed to make him beg. Which was impossible, because he would die first. Nobody had ever tried to fight that brutal-bulldozer.

Tears had filled his eyes… he abruptly wiped it. He hated the horrible-mixed-feelings like this even more than just a jock mocking him. He was tired of it. It didn’t feel right. He. Was. Tired. Of. It.

The warm breeze touched his face, now he let the tears down. He stood, just hoping this lonely spot of wall would silent forever like this—to let his anger disappeared.
He couldn’t remember how long he had been standing in silence when he heard the walking steps—not too loud, but in a hurry. And then he heard a thump, right behind the wall he stood by.

Someone—he guessed—slumped his/her body to the ground, and then sobbed. For a moment, he forgot about his problem and stiffened. So, someone else did feel bad today. What should he do? He could just leave and let the girl (from the sob he heard) had her own time. But where did he have to go to?

Suddenly, the sobs stopped. “Who’s there?”

He felt like his heart jumped to the throat. How on earth could she know that he was here?

“Sorry,” finally he managed, talking to the wall behind him. “I… didn’t mean to overhear you. I’ve been here… few minutes ago…”

Another long silence. He was about to go when she said, “I can hear you sniff too. Sorry.”

He glanced to the wall again, surprised, and embarrassed. But strangely, it felt rather relieving too, when he didn’t hear any hint of judgment in her voice—only understanding.

“My brother did cry too last week, here,” said the girl again, a bit wobbly. That explained much about the understanding.

He hesitated, but then replied, “I think… I’m better now. Poor wall. I kicked a lot.”

There was a weak laugh behind him. “Yeah, poor wall,” said the girl.

He glanced again, only to face the wall. “You kicked it too?”

“My brother and I… wrote a lot. You know, bad words, wise words… but mostly bad ones.”

He smiled. “I never thought to look at the other side of this wall.”

“Don’t!” said the girl hastily. “I mean, don’t read it until I go. It’s just… you know…” Her voice sounded sad again.

He didn’t say a word for a moment. Yeah, he understood.

“He’s going better,” the girl said again. “I mean, my brother. I need him to… go through… so, yeah… well, actually, we’re twins.”

“You’re lucky,” he heard his own voice as if it came out from far away. “My best friend has moved out.”

Both of them sunk into silence again.

“You’ll find another one,” she said again behind him. He was astonished to realize how clear he could hear her. He smiled to the trees across the street, “I hope so.”

“We have this cat named Park. She is ugly—a trouble maker in our neighborhood, mind you—but she’s my bro and I savior for bad days.”

“Well,” he thought about it. “I think a pet is a good idea.”

The sun was going higher and he felt the pain was only left in his feet—not in his heart.

He sighed. “Well, I guess I’ll let you write. I have to leave now. And… err… thanks anyway, for… the talk.”

The girl didn’t respond it immediately. But then she said, “Thanks to you too. I haven’t written anything yet, but I feel much better as well.” Another silence and then, “Have a good day.”

He put the ball, looked at the wall, hesitated to ask her name, and then decided not to do it. A twin girl and boy with a cat named Park was enough for now.

Finally he said. “Bye. Have a good day.”

A good day. A new friend to talk to had made it.

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