Men and Boys

Flash Fiction, by CJ Heck

The moments are rare, but when the mower is silent and the hammer and nails join the other tools in the shed, my eyes can get hell bent on convincing me they don't see a man enjoying his senior years, but the child the man once was.

It's a brief insight, but when I am allowed to see, it is so much more. It’s a treasured glimpse back in time, to a life I wasn't privy to share.

Today on the front lawn was a boy of about six. His hair was sandy blond and blowing in the wind. Barefoot and shirtless, he was busy tying rags to the tail of a homemade kite.

Then he was running with the wind, a huge grin plastered across his small face, and delight was oozing from every pore in his body.

Then, just as quickly, the vision was gone. As always, I am left awed, staring at a tall balding man at home in his grown up skin, flying a kite with a grandson.

I love those magic moments and I appreciate how they get locked into memory by an efficient mind. Patiently they wait, suspended like mixed fruit in a gelatin salad.  How easily the heart can pick the lock and, once freed, how quickly those moments are breathed back to life.

Memories seek their validation and we have to give them that. Only then will they shrink to a size where we can put them back and move on.

Today once more, I was reminded, there really is no difference between a man and a boy --only the price of his toys.

Poet/Writer/Author of 5 books.
Quora Top Writer 2018.
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