A Little Boy

I knew a boy nicknamed “coco”. The nickname was not an endearing name, it was more of a play on words. He was nicknamed “coco” (Spanish for coconut) for his round head, and for apparently being thick headed. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old. He lived in a small village with his large family.

It was a typical stormy night. The downpour could be heard loudly inside the house, with its rumbling thunder, and lighting that could make an otherwise very dark night look like daylight. Was it a routine night? Was it a special night? Not really sure. The activity of the other family members gets lost as the memory of that little boy comes into focus.

There is a knock at the door. Why is he knocking? Doesn’t he have a key? This is his home, after all.

Home – a place one should always be welcomed. The place where love and protection should be.

Home – can you picture the perfect postcard with the beautiful cottage, surrounded with its white picket fence?

Home – is it a man-made structure? Or is it what or who is in it?

The door is opened. The little boy is standing in the pouring rain, soaked already, yet still “getting wet”. His round face with those big brown eyes with an expression of fear, terror, anxiety, pleading for help, like he was running, escaping from something…yet he remained composed. He’s crying, but not a sobbing cry to match the look in his eyes. It’s almost as if, even those tears rolling out of his eyes are escaping what he so desperately is trying to hold in. He is just a little boy, why doesn’t he cry openly and freely?

He is covered with “something”…well, it should be covering him, but it is just not adequate enough for the downpour. Yeah, nothing like the pictures of cute little boys with their yellow rain coats with matching hat and boots. Nope, this is far, far from that.

He finally manages to open his mouth to speak. Almost in a whisper, with a tremble in his voice he says, “I’m scared. I don’t want to go back. Can I just stay home.” He is still standing outside. My heart! My thoughts…can you please bring him inside? Can you hold him? Can you change him into warm, dry clothes? Can you make him feel safe?

Finally, he is inside! Yes, I can breath! Wait! He is being scolded for leaving that “scary place”. He is told to change and get some sleep, cause tomorrow he has to go back…

Author: readypen8

A wife. A mother. Writing to heal, healing to write.

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