Sharp Contrasts
As time passes and faces grow nameless in my memory, I wonder how I'm going to hold my life together. When I was a youngin during our time in the States, my mother frequently took me and my older siblings to a nearby park to play. At the time, I didn’t know why. I mean, it’s not like we couldn’t play at home. We had a swing set, a jungle gym/playhouse, a sand box, and, of course, grass – driving to a park for the same amenities seemed a bit foolish. Aside from that, at this point in time in the ‘80s, we sufferers of ocular albinism were forced to wear sunglasses outside lest our retinas be scorched like the fires of hell. I preferred to stay home and read.
We always arrived at the park just past lunch. My brother usually ran off to play baseball while my sister and 10 other girls convened near the swing sets to engage in Barbie Dream World or whatever it is little girls do with anatomically incorrect plastic dolls that possess neo-archetypal beauty. I joined the group once at my mother’s insistence and upon not being able to get Barbie into her Dream Car, I removed Barbie’s legs and threw them in the Dream House. She fit perfectly…three minutes later I found myself kicked out of the club. So, I stuck to playing make-believe in the area around the bench my mother occupied. On some days, she’d put her book down and play with me, on others she’d try to get me involved in a game of tag with other children, and occasionally, she would simply let me be. But this all stopped the day a boy arrived at the park with his grandfather. With hair like auburn crescent moons and a nape the color of the midnight sky, his appearance captivated me. It wasn’t often that I felt connected to someone. It wasn’t his peculiar confidence or his somewhat wry inner amusement, as he danced merrily to the songs his grandfather would sing. It was that he, like me, was a study in sharp aesthetic contrast. His curls flopped whimsically against his dark skin much the same way that my albinic curls fell against my dark bronze shoulders. I was never close enough to see his eyes and couldn't tell if they were like mine but I knew that at the very least, he didn’t “match.” I felt an instant bond with him but was far too shy to ask him to play... I remember the way he giggled when I crept near. I remember his grandfather speaking to my mother and her telling him how cute we were together. It made me blush. And though other little kids made fun of us, it didn’t seem to matter as much anymore. We continued on, day after day, rarely as a duo but always within a stone’s throw from one another, exchanging occasional smiles of reassurance and comfort. And then, one day, he wasn’t there. I spent most of the afternoon on the bench with my mum awaiting the arrival of the sky blue station wagon but it never came.
A year passed. I was gearing up for the day when I’d permanently ride my bike without training wheels. To practice, my parents took me to the park. Upon arriving at the all-too familiar bench, I spotted a couple close to my parents' age at the nearby table where his grandpa used to sit. It was my mom that spotted him though, near the sandbox, dancing to music that wasn't there... at least, I couldn't hear it. But it didn't matter. For the first time I ran around the park with someone that I could call a friend. We played on the swings.. I taught him how to do handstands and he showed me where to find worms. As the sun went down, he picked a dandelion and put it in my hand, called me a princess, and said I was funny. His eyes were a pale grey. I made faces at him and he kissed me on the cheek.. right on top of my dimple. Our moms cooed... he laughed; I blushed.
I never saw him again after that day but I think of him often. I wonder if he thinks about me. And now, his name, a name I’ve said to myself a billion times in my dreams and memories, has somehow slipped away. It’s nearly sunrise as I write and I’d guess my body’s need to sleep is contributing to this random bout of memory loss but that’s no consolation. He was my first friend and at 6:12 AM, I can't remember his name... I can't help but feeling a bit sad that I don't.
G'night.
We always arrived at the park just past lunch. My brother usually ran off to play baseball while my sister and 10 other girls convened near the swing sets to engage in Barbie Dream World or whatever it is little girls do with anatomically incorrect plastic dolls that possess neo-archetypal beauty. I joined the group once at my mother’s insistence and upon not being able to get Barbie into her Dream Car, I removed Barbie’s legs and threw them in the Dream House. She fit perfectly…three minutes later I found myself kicked out of the club. So, I stuck to playing make-believe in the area around the bench my mother occupied. On some days, she’d put her book down and play with me, on others she’d try to get me involved in a game of tag with other children, and occasionally, she would simply let me be. But this all stopped the day a boy arrived at the park with his grandfather. With hair like auburn crescent moons and a nape the color of the midnight sky, his appearance captivated me. It wasn’t often that I felt connected to someone. It wasn’t his peculiar confidence or his somewhat wry inner amusement, as he danced merrily to the songs his grandfather would sing. It was that he, like me, was a study in sharp aesthetic contrast. His curls flopped whimsically against his dark skin much the same way that my albinic curls fell against my dark bronze shoulders. I was never close enough to see his eyes and couldn't tell if they were like mine but I knew that at the very least, he didn’t “match.” I felt an instant bond with him but was far too shy to ask him to play... I remember the way he giggled when I crept near. I remember his grandfather speaking to my mother and her telling him how cute we were together. It made me blush. And though other little kids made fun of us, it didn’t seem to matter as much anymore. We continued on, day after day, rarely as a duo but always within a stone’s throw from one another, exchanging occasional smiles of reassurance and comfort. And then, one day, he wasn’t there. I spent most of the afternoon on the bench with my mum awaiting the arrival of the sky blue station wagon but it never came.
A year passed. I was gearing up for the day when I’d permanently ride my bike without training wheels. To practice, my parents took me to the park. Upon arriving at the all-too familiar bench, I spotted a couple close to my parents' age at the nearby table where his grandpa used to sit. It was my mom that spotted him though, near the sandbox, dancing to music that wasn't there... at least, I couldn't hear it. But it didn't matter. For the first time I ran around the park with someone that I could call a friend. We played on the swings.. I taught him how to do handstands and he showed me where to find worms. As the sun went down, he picked a dandelion and put it in my hand, called me a princess, and said I was funny. His eyes were a pale grey. I made faces at him and he kissed me on the cheek.. right on top of my dimple. Our moms cooed... he laughed; I blushed.
I never saw him again after that day but I think of him often. I wonder if he thinks about me. And now, his name, a name I’ve said to myself a billion times in my dreams and memories, has somehow slipped away. It’s nearly sunrise as I write and I’d guess my body’s need to sleep is contributing to this random bout of memory loss but that’s no consolation. He was my first friend and at 6:12 AM, I can't remember his name... I can't help but feeling a bit sad that I don't.
G'night.
posted by Flash at 3/21/2005 06:14:00 AM
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