Wisps of Sunshine

The floorboard creaks as I tiptoe to my seat, eager to watch the first time children meet. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow of pinks and oranges and reds all swirled together, creating a color indescribable to those who have not seen it. The ornate, flowery gold-and-white railing, along with the snow white pillars, separate me from the outside. 

The children drag their feet along the gray gravel, kicking up dust, pebbles, and the kiss of feet that dreamt for more. I sit down slowly, holding the arms of Papa’s light, wooden rocking chair delicately, being careful not to disturb. 

The boy fidgets with his foot in the ground swinging back and forth, hands behind his back. He says something short. She shuffles from side to side, asks him something in a gossamer voice, and points to something on his shoulder. A mouse. Its fur is milk chocolate brown, its tail swaying like the willow trees, and its ears as perfectly round as an orange soda pop cap. She smiles a smile brighter and warmer than the golden sun hugging them from above. They stare at each other, eyes wide with innocence and a dash of hope, reflecting each other’s souls. 

I hold my breath to see what he’ll do. He whispers in the mouse’s ear, strokes her once, picks her up, and places her in his two palms, offering it to the girl. She looks down at it, grinning impossibly wider, revealing a missing tooth. She scoops the mouse into her own palms gently, speaking in lullabies to it like a baby in its first moments out of the womb. 

“Do you think we could’ve been like that?” Brook asks me. I startle, rocking in my chair a bit. He must’ve come through the back door. 

“Perhaps,” I answer, wondering silently.

“Do you think, if we were as honest as they are, we’d see each other differently?”


“Do you think there’s a chance for us to?”

I peel my eyes from the scene unfolding beyond the porch to meet his. My smile dissipates. I had waited forever. I put my hand through his, holding so tight I wonder why he hasn’t shifted. The children run off together, most likely to the swings nearby.

I let go. My hand is left with the imprints of my nails dug into soft skin.

Posted in response to the challenge Porch.



16 years old