He sat leaning against the telephone pole, stroking his dog Happy, while he sobbed. It was a late March afternoon, grey sky, the grass not quite green, the ground still cool and damp on his bottom. His most prized possession, a small blue plastic 9 volt transistor radio, lay discarded beside him. He had been holding it near the grounding cable of the pole, attempting to hear stations usually too faint to hear at all without the added antenna boost of the cable. It was his connection to the outside world. Maybe he hoped to find solutions in those faint, static filled AM stations. Maybe he hoped that magically he could be transported, somehow, to where those faint stations were. Anywhere would be better than where he lived, and the people he lived with. He stroked Happy as he cried; telling his best friend how no one loved him. It wasn’t the kind of crying we might do later as young teenagers. It certainly wasn’t the kind of weak ineffective stifled crying we might give in to as adults, (if we ever do at all). It also wasn’t the childishly dishonest crying declaration that a young child might make when they feel slighted, because his observation about his family was firmly grounded in the truth.
Some folks are not capable of Love, or honesty. Love must contain empathy. They might say they love, but love is never real unless demonstrated consistently. Love confessed must never be polluted by demonstrations that undo that “love”, like cruelty, contempt, dishonesty, narcissism, or violence, (all of which he had experienced during his short 10 years of life).
He felt he could not go on, the despair he carried far too large for a little boy. His chest heaved uncontrollably. His heart and throat burned, as he cried, spasms rising from his belly, into his chest, forcing his cry from his throat, while tears flowed freely down the side of his face. There was no terror now, although it had been his companion earlier. Now, despair and sadness so large that they threatened his tender nature was what his heaving chest and tears confided to the soft heart of his four legged friend, and attempted to expel. His friend and protector never flinched, or turned away, accepting the sobs and tears, all part of the many emotional storms lately. Happy accepted unconditionally, because that was his nature, and in this instance, his purpose. He nudged closer, kissing his charge on the side of the face with his large wet tongue. Then the little boy let loose even greater sobs, unloading the rest of the poison that had just been put into him.
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