Spots

The Whistler

It was a particularly sunny day at the very point in which we came across the youngster. Almond brown curls hung like a halo about his head and stormy blue eyes barely showed the waves crashing as a war waged within the kaleidoscope that is the human soul.

I had always seen him strolling about or whistling the tune of a long forgotten and memory laden ballad. However, that day, I climbed the stairwell up to my third floor, rat infested, haven of a home, as I had always done. I saw him as he sat noiselessly, dressing the wounds of the rust ridden rails that lined the stairs.

Nothing disturbed me more than the silence that echoed from his lips, empty of the song most often pursued in the pleasure of freedom. A life so absent of distress. It seemed as though at first glance, this boy was the place where the seven sins of the world went to die. At second glance however, a deeper understanding seemed to dawn and I paused in thought.

As he turned to beg of my stopping I met with his eyes. Immediately I looked away as I rushed past him, urging my feet to climb higher. There I saw no innocence but rather the quiet patience of one who had seen too much. The scars of a life once happy now covered in the soot of yesterday. I pondered what could have clouded such a one's mind as to take such a happy fellow and turn him a solemn and thoughtful brood.

With a defeated sigh I pivoted clockwise and marched back down the stairs. Confronting him who I had so often taken for granted. "How different is this evening young friend. You do not whistle as I most often hear."

Turning to me he nodded and placed the paintbrush back into the can from which it gained its strength. "I have naught to be whistling about today I suppose."

"Nothing can be as bad as this does seem, do tell."

"Sir, I do not wish to discuss affairs of which have been dealt with whether to my liking or not. Perhaps tomorrow I will whistle as I have done, if it so pleases your ears."

"I see, then I suppose a smile will do to allow me the credit of making sure you are alright."

Turning he pulled his legs up toward him and smiled the most genuine smile I had seen with my own eyes. "Thank you for your earnest concern but I wish you not to worry for I know that in the end all will be as it should be."

"I suppose this is true, though I find it intriguing to hear it from one so young as yourself."

"Yes, and we must have hope for another day. This is why i smile."

With a nod I turned and made my way back up the stairs from which i had come and laid prostrate upon my bed. Perhaps if I followed the same strategy I might become as mature as the whistler below. Siting up I quickly looked to my mirror and smiled. It felt strange and foreign at first but as I forced myself to hold it, the awkwardness faded replaced with a true sense of happiness. Tomorrow was a new day I was determined to be hopeful of its coming rather than anxious.

As part of my routine in the coming days when I strode along the concrete I whistled my Favorite tunes in the hope I might lift someone else's spirits as he had done for my own. The boy in the stairwell with the melodious song and the painted dark eyes.