Misty Rain in Victoria Park, July 9th
It was a light tickle at first but grew sharper. Now the misty rain billowed across the park submerging the trees on the other side in a milky distance. A metallic sheen bounced off the paths that cut across the wide stretches of grass. I walked by a bench where a mum read ingredients from a packet (“Sugar, cocoa, caramel, peanuts…”) and stopped under a tree to wait for the rain to pass.
Joggers listlessly huffed along. A group of boys with wet fringes under hoods walked by (“You came to my birthday party TWO years ago, NOT the one last year, the year before. Last year we went ice-skating.” “I know…”). The rolling squelch of pram wheels behind me.
The mist lifted and the trees opposite emerged closer and clearer. A young boy of maybe four or five ran onto the grass and picked up a thick wonky stick that was at least twice his height.
“No!” shouts another boy from behind me, “I saw it first!”
“I got it first,” says the first boy, grappling with the stick and trying to lift it overhead.
“I saw it. When did YOU see it?”
“I got it so it’s mine,” said the first now walking back with the stick trailing behind him. HIs friend approached warily.
“WELL, I was the one who went scavenging in the woods for sticks the other day and I FOUND that one and left it there because my dad wouldn’t let me bring it home.”
“You shouldn’t have left it there. It’s mine now.”
“EXCUSE ME. I can leave MY sticks where I want. Now give it to me it’s mine.”
“No.” said the first boy. He walks by his friend towards their discarded bikes, gripping the stick with both hands.
“Fine!” says the second boy, he strides off to find a stick of his own.
The first boy watches then shouts, “I’m just going to stay here with my huge stick!” Alone, he looks down at the stick, unsure of what to do with it.
I began walking back across the park towards home.