Word Count: 302
It was surprising, to see the little boy standing still in a crowd of moving people, like a small oak tree in a field of waving oat. His hands hung down by his side, his fingers half-curled into his best attempt at fists. Fists give you confidence, his fingers were in the midst of unrolling as his fear softened steel into spaghetti.
I could tell he was lost, forgotten amid the craziness of Black Friday shopping. He was about six, maybe five, his bottom lip captured by front teeth just growing in. He was well-dressed, plumped into a flag-bright red jacket made of nylon-trapped down. His jeans bubbled down over sneakers tied in motherly double knots. Green mittens hung out from his pockets, abandoned protection and love within reach of his hands. It was heartbreaking. I knew the feeling. I could sense his determination to obey orders dwindling away.
He stayed in that one spot in the main aisle of the mall and the crowd flowed around him. A pebble in the stream of the morning. I watched the people buzzing by like honeybees seeking a particular flower. I looked for a mother who seemed to be missing a child. I listened for someone calling a name, high-pitched and frantic. I saw and heard no one I could connect with this one little boy.
I edged closer, not wanting to scare him. Soon I was standing in front of him and he looked up, his eyes glassy with holding back tears. I smiled and held out my hand. “I’ll help you,” I said.
Together we walked out of the mall, making only one stop for a brightly red and green frosted chocolate tree on a stick, which he happily took and first thing, bit off the star.
