Men and Boys

A Short-Short Story
by CJ Heck

The moments are rare, but when the mower is silent and the hammer and nails have joined the drill and other tools in the garage,  my eyes can get hell bent on persuading the rest of me that they don't see a man enjoying his later years, but the child the man once was.  It's a brief insight, mind you, but when I'm allowed to see,  it's a treasured glimpse into a life that I wasn't privy to share.  

Today, out on the front lawn, I saw a young boy, a precocious child of perhaps six.  His hair was tousled, and he was both barefoot and shirtless, tying rags to the tail of a kite.  Then, he was running with the wind, a huge grin plastered across his face, with delight oozing from every pore.  Then just as quickly, the vision was gone again and I was left staring in awe at an aging giant, a grown man, who was at home in his own skin, and merely flying a kite with a happy grandson. 

I love how these seemingly magic moments seem to get flash-frozen and locked away by an efficient mind to suspend like fruit in a gelatin salad.  There, they wait patiently until I have the need and the time to revisit them, as I so often do.  I find it astonishing how easily my senses can pick the lock and, once freed, how quickly those same moments are breathed back to life -- at least for a little while.   Once they are, sometimes I cry, sometimes I smile, sometimes, I only sigh, but it's okay.  Memories seek their validation and I must give them that.  Only then can they diminish to a size where I can put them back inside and go on with life.

Today, once more, I was reminded that there really is no difference between a man and a boy, only the price of his toys ... and for me, a new memory was flash-frozen, locked away and waiting.