I Lit a Candle
Submitted by anna on 2002-11-11 16:04:29, Monday
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We were walking hand in hand down the park to Bloomingdales, the Christmas frost nipping at our noses. While walking in the park we passed a group of men all holding blue candles in a circle. "Whats all this?," I asked curious. A young man in his twenties answered me. "Every year at Winter and Summer solstice, we light blue candles to symbolize our love for our boys." "Do you mean like your sons, and nephews?," I asked unknowing. He grinned. "Yes, in a way." "Thats sweet," I told him. "Well could you light one for my boy?" He looked down at Brown Eyes, who was looking at the candles with interest. "Sure, of course I'll light one for your boy," he answered smiling down at him. I thanked him thinking nothing of it as we headed toward the mall frenzy looking for gifts for our family. We stopped at a womens deparment store, looking for a gift for my mother. "How about this?," he asked, holding up an angora scarf. "That would be perfect." Little Brown Eyes always knew just what to get people, he knew what made your heart warm. "What do you want for Christmas?," he piped up looking around for something I would like. "I just want you, sweetheart," I replied, beaming down. "You'll always have me, maybe a hat?" I nodded, I told him to go off and find me the most perfect hat. Smiling to myself, I continued on searching for the perfect gift for my sister, wondering what Brown Eyes would like. After awhile he didn't come back, I looked around the aisles and aisles of clothes and perfumes calling his name. Perhaps he was playing hide and seek, he had done that before, driving me mad in the middle of Robinsons May once. But calling his name he still never came, I fell upon the hat section but he was not there. Walking down the aisle I found a hat sitting alone on the floor, just my size, and the perfect color. Fear gripped me, where was he? Over and over again I shouted his name until I started to attract attention. A clerk aproached me asking me the problem. "I can't find him, I think someone took him- He-he went to go look for a- a hat and now..." I must have scoured the whole of New York city that day, yet still I did not find my Brown Eyes. For four agonizing days I waited, for the police to discover my boy, and they did. The officer came to me, sympathy written in his face. Out of his pocket emerged a blue candle. "Do you know what this is Ms.-?" I racked my brain, it seemed familiar. "Yes," I said, "Winter Solstice, candle for your son-" I stopped speaking, for a grave look passed through his eyes. "No, maam, not for your son. This candle is a symbol of love for young boys-" My insides froze, what did he mean 'love for young boys?', what does that have to do with me? "Every summer and winter solstice, pedophiles come together to celebrate their," he cleared his throat and looked away briefly. "-their abnormal love for children." "What does that have to do with me?" "We, we found your boy," he said. These were the words I wanted to hear, yet not like this, he and his comrad were looking at me sadness lodged within them. "But- no, no I took him shopping, four days ago, he was with me four days-" I could not speak, I sank, my heart, my soul, my very being. I vaguely remember them talking to me with soothing voice, pledging to me they would find the bastard who did this. But that did not occur to me, what about my boy? Brown Eyes will never see another sunset, will never finish decorating hte Christmas tree we bought last week, he'll never have his hair tousled in the warm, adoring way he loved so much. Yes, they found him. Mangled, bloody, clothes ripped away they found my Brown Eyes wrapped in a black bag abadoned near the East River. How cold he must have been, how cold. To enter heaven wrapped in a dark bag, tears clouding his vision, I wonder how he feels right now. I never pass the park during the solstices now, I'm afraid I might just bring a weapon and hurt someone innocent while bringing revenge for my boy. Every time I see someone holding their boys hand I remember my Brown Eyes and how he used to smile, I remember the way he laughed. Every winter, and summer I tell as many people as I can, all the innocent people holding their beloved boys. Every year I ask them to light a candle. Ever winter I see just a few more candles, I see the loving families placing the candles in their windows. And every winter I stand at the River to be close to my boy, and I light a candle, a single white taper for my boy. I lit a white candle for my boy, for my son, and I put out the blue ones. Sometimes in the flickering light I can still see his warm brown eyes smiling at me. |
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