Venus Candle

by Jonathan Krakaur

The park was full now, with the perennials just beginning to poke their heads out again and the leaves on trees shining with their young greenish yellow color. Every breath by every being birthed a new smile, an effect not uncommon around such a high quality of air. The deep and healthy color of the grass beckoned families and young folks over to share in a picnic, or toss around a Frisbee. Around the perimeter of the primary field a path lined with American Elms clamored with the sound of Canaries calling out to one another. Couples strolled blissfully along the path oblivious to the world around them. A group of bikers pedaled furiously, yet is seemed as if the rider in front took no pride in his greater positioning. In fact, the older man in the rear of the troop seemed to attract the most respect. On either side of the path there were park benches, full with the widest variety of people, ranging from an old man feeding the pigeons to a small boy having his scrapped knee tended to by his caring father.

On one of these benches a man from a more archaic generation had decided to place himself, appearing rather complacent to sit and run his bony fingers across the pages of his newspaper, flipping the page every so often. A once proud face had entered the mid to early stages of saggy wrinkles which so often ran along with the beginning of the shaky hand phase. A large black pair of ugly sunglasses covered his eyes, which were the only part of his humble figure that had not changed with age. They were often described to him eloquently, trying to somehow make him understand why it was just so great to look him in the eye. He heard terms like oasis, Mediterranean, oceans, etcetera but all that they managed to do was make him thirsty.  . The man had a full head of hair, but it was not its original blonde and was on the verge turning white from its current grey. As the final page of the newspaper had exhausted its use, man laid it across the close together greenish-brown beams of the bench seat next to him.

The man smiled and stretched his limbs, showing a flash of energy that would not be expected from someone of his appearance. His head rotated on an axis, as if he were surveying the colorful day that was unfolding in front of him. He leaned back, reclining by the metal armrest at the corner of the bench with one forearm supporting him on there and the other spread across the back of the seat.

A small boy toting a plastic bucket that he got on a school field trip to a nature reserve which packed to the brim with nearly every shade of chalk in existence waddled nearby, only a few yards from the bench. He decided that because A. he had been walking for a good amount of time and B. the load he was carrying was darned heavy, he would take a strategically break. He was, in fact, on an important mission marking out the borders of his domain, which would soon have a fort under construction in the Great Tree in his yard. He struggled over the last few feet of his journey to the bench, fighting with every muscle in his body to bring his materials over to his pit stop. He grunted and groaned, but eventually, as always, his hard work paid off.

The park was beginning to empty now, but neither man nor child on the bench seemed to notice. What the man did notice was the fast breathing of a young boy a foot down the bench from him. His neck turned a little bit, reading the situation. The chalk from the bucket gave of a familiar scent, and the boy himself smelled more like Mother Nature then the rest of the park. The beleaguered face of the boy looked without regard into the stonewall covering his bench partners eyes. “Hello,” The boy, who had slowed his breathing, waited expectantly for a response. The man, beginning to respond found his lips were stuck together. He let out a low sound in the back of his throat before he gathered himself and let out a puzzled “Hello.” The man turned his head back to the park scene, where from the bench the sun only seemed a foot away from the tree line, although the skies color was still a strong blue. A breeze made its way between the man and the boy, tickling the boy’s neck hairs. “Hello sir,” the boy put out again, using his hands to push himself closer to the man on the other side of the bench. The seat squeaked as his thighs rubbed against it. His feet dangled and bounced playfully a few feet above the ground. He stuck one of his small Adidas Velcro sneakers into the plastic loop that worked as a handle on his bucket and pulled it close to his new position.  The man turned his head a little towards the child, and then he shifted the way he was reclining so he could face the child a little more fully. “Is there something you need?” He asked, a little harsher than he had intended. The boy was quiet for a second, and the man instantly felt a pang of guilt. That was replaced swiftly by confusion again as the boy let his reply roll cautiously off his tongue.

“Not really.” The boy let his posture go and fall down against the backrest of the bench. Apparently not to eager to stay in one place, he hunched forwards again putting his elbows on his dirty knees. A small cloud drifted across their side of the sun, cooling the air down a little bit.  When the cloud had passed the sun resumed its liberal application of bright rays back down to the earth. The boy put a hand above his eyes to shade them from the light. The sun was nearing the trees and stood directly in front of them. The boy watched quietly as it made its final bows and took its place below the horizon. The boy smiled as his skin cooled a little bit. He looked at the man seated next to him with interest.

“You can them off now,” He said. “It isn’t bright anymore, you don’t need those glasses.” A smile tugged at one side of the man’s mouth. He turned towards the boy, lowered his altitude and pulled the glasses off.

“Better?”  The boys eyes gazed into the pale blue orbs which seemed to shine with brilliance, but seemed devoid of life.

“That’s not for me to say, you can put them back on if you like. I just always think the world looks nicer right after you take sun-glasses off.”

About the Author: Jonathan Krakaur is a student in his sophomore year at high school in New York. He works arduously to give an adequate transposition of the world around him onto the pages lain before him. He hates two things: Irony, and lists.