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A home without a wall, |
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| How to Join | Member's Area | Private Library | Search | Sanctuary | Login | |
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| Main Forums | Discussion | Tech Talk | Mature Content | Archives |
A home without a wall, |
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| Passions in Prose |
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Innocence Lost |
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pegasus111 Member Elite
since 2000-07-27
Posts 2219ocala, fl, usa 
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The old man sits quietly on the old scarred bench watching the young children play in the park. He comes to watch them whe The old man sits quietly on the old scarred bench watching n he can now that he is retired from teaching. A small hint of a smile appears across the still rugged face as he remembers the old busman’s holiday joke. He enjoys watching their energy and their enthusiasm for life. And their innocence. Yes, their innocence. Running his hand slowly through his thinning silver streaked hair, he remembers when he was one of them, so many long years ago. He shifts his compact muscular frame to ease the ache of the arthritis beginning to invade his joints, allowing his mind to drift with the thought. How many years now? Fifty? Has it been fifty already? No. Forty eight. Thats right. Forty eight years since he was seven years old. Seven years old when he began to lose his innocence and his trust. When the world that only a child can see began to fade, as his face is pulled forward and slammed against the wire fence by the angry landlord. He touches the scar absently as he recalls the contorted, angry red face of the giant, inches from his own, still holding his shirt and shaking him as the blood filled his mouth. He sees it as if it was yesterday. Just as he has seen it so many times in dreams. Yes, that was the day. The day the world began to change. And the rainy day three years later when the three older boys beat him in the school yard on his first day at the new school. Later, when the principal asked them why the had done it, all they could say was,”we just don’t like him.” And his trust faded a little more. He is returned to the present by the loud squeals of the laughing children. Surveying the park lazily with blue eyes squinting against the morning sun, he spys two teens sitting in the grass some distance away, heads touching, hands entwined, lost in dreams. He recalls those first experiences with young love, his emotions mixed with pleasure and pain. So nieve in those early days, moving from one relationship to the next, never quite knowing what was expected of him and, of course, failing miserably. Then he met Jennifer. Sweet Jennifer. His first real love. Such plans they made. They would love each other forever. Forever lasted until the draft callup. The brutal basic training. The jungles and rice paddys of Vietnam. Before the heat and the malaria, the rain and the leaches, and death all around. A single tear formed at the corner of his eye and drifted slowly down his cheek as he remembered the letter that came after five months in country. The war was evil she said. She could no longer pretend to support it or me. She had met someone. They were getting married. Goodby. Have a nice life. Two weeks later he caught a fragment and spent three painful months in a VA hospital, mentally and physically wounded by a war his beloved country had no intention of winning. Some people spit on his purple heart at the airport when he finally returned home. He never saw the world the same way again. Oh, sure, there was college, teaching, a wife, kids. Not a bad life. But, it was never the same again for him. He thought sometimes of Jennifer and what might have been. In all the years he taught and influenced the lives of his students, he was sure that in the end, they just had to learn for themselves. To lose their innocence in their own way as he had so many years ago. Gazing at the frollocking children, he shook his head ever so slightly. They are so pure, he thought. They don’t know yet about that other world. But, they will. Another tear fell to the corner of his mouth as he sighed deeply. Oh, God. They will soon enough. He rose then and walked slowly away, turning once to look back at them. They didn’t notice him. the woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep, and many miles to go before I sleep...Frost |
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| © Copyright 2000 pegasus111 - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Pegasus, did we ever even begin to think as children that we would ever have so much to look back upon? Thank you for being an "educator"...we do not have enough good ones... Karilea If I whisper, will you listen?... I would rather be silent and write, then speak loudly and be bound. KRJ |
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Romy Senior Member
since 2000-05-28
Posts 1170Plantation, Florida |
no, it doesn't take long before innocence is lost, for some, sooner than others. It is those bad experiences though, that sometimes help us to appreciate the simple things in life even more. I enjoyed reading, thanks! |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
It is sad to look at today's children and wonder how many of them will be exposed to life's harsher moments and pray that they will be strong. |
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pegasus111 Member Elite
since 2000-07-27
Posts 2219ocala, fl, usa |
I must apologize for the errors in the first paragraph. I didn't notice until it was too late to edit. Must have happened when I highlighted and pasted. sorry for the mixup. It was nice of you all to ignore it. thanks. the woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep, and many miles to go before I sleep...Frost |
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Tramp Poet Senior Member
since 2000-01-06
Posts 754Could Be Anywhere... |
Peg, isn't it odd how one judges another on appearance without taking the time to subjectively get to know anothers reality? Wondering if the gangsters with their boomboxs and firearms even have a clue that that old man over there was once exactly where they are? Or if they could ever make the mental leap to believe that "there is nothing new under the sun?" Fascinating portrait... bleeding... "Tis ink coming from his arm, Captain!" |
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