In Character: Two

Posted by | September 19, 2012 | Writing | No Comments

The boy spends his time standing by the window in the front corner of the house staring north toward the street with the east corner window, sitting just out of alignment with the other, on his right. He stands with his left hand on the sil, motionless except for the faint sweep of his fingers tracing the grain of the wood nearly masked beneath the paint and his right hand perched, searching in the dust, between the frames of north and east, his palm to the north with his thumb holding place and the remainder of his fingers in the corner, out of sight between the white frames, reaching toward the dark blue of the walls made even darker by the confinement.

And when he’s not standing, staring with a curiosity as innocent and interested as the look on his face, motionless outside of his equally curious, equally innocent hands, he’s walking from whatever room he happens to find himself to that very spot where he’ll place his hands and rest and stare and focus north with the east on his right, his walk nonchalant and misdirected by turns and rooms unneeded along the way.

And if he’s neither walking nor standing and staring, but rather doing something completely unrelated but largely normal for a boy of 6 such as flipping with demanding rapidity through a book more for the sound produced than for the flipping itself, or shifting through his toys which rest with no sense of order beyond the disorder into which he has placed them, or searching through everything to find anything to do while knowing, as does everyone else around him, that nothing found will be suitable, the north facing corner window is in the back of his mind. A thought he doesn’t know is there.

The corner is his corner. The north facing window, with its east facing counterpart and its northeast shared corner, is his window. The street running perpendicular to the direction from which his window allows him to peer, distorted slightly by the sunken, blended viscosity of an aged pane, is his street. And while his corner gives him nothing more than something to wonder about, there he stand as quiet, as curious, and as content as ever. Doing nothing more than wondering.