Boy in Wagon

Just so you know, this was a free write I decided to do. I am not continuing this as a story, unless I feel like I could bring it into more of something, without taking away its sense of mystery and the effect of the cliff-hanger. Hope you like it.

 I'm not sure why, but sometimes I like just stepping down the gray cement steps in the middle of winter and going for a walk. Normally, I stumble upon things like stores I've never heard of, whose windows intrigue me, and sometimes I find a new place to get my coffee, or to just sit under a tree all day and think about everything and nothing all at once. 

That's exactly what I decided to do one night, it was March 3rd. My rubber boots plopped their way down the steps leading onto the sidewalk, with my name and Becky Anderson's carved into it. Becky Anderson was my best friend in Kindergarten, and she had lived the next door over. Every time I made my way down these steps, those scraggly letters made me wonder where she was now, and if she ever remembered me. 

The snow crunched under my boots, but only in some places, because in March there are some areas of snow, and then there aren't. It's a very confusing month, if you ask me. 

Mom says I shouldn't do this-exploring- a lot. She says it's not going to do me any good considering I leave for college real soon and all the way over in California, I won't find a park to sit in and think about everything and nothing all at once. In California, according to Mom, I'll find movie stars. 

My hands dug deep inside of my black trench coat, as if burying themselves away from the crisp wind. I passed by Harrington's, my favorite coffee shop. I felt like going in and saying hi to Tori, the girl behind the counter who I knew just as well as the back of my hand. But I didn't, because today was all about finding something new. 

I crossed the crosswalk, determining that I was not going to Russell Park, my favorite park where I used to write stories when I was in the sixth grade. That's where I distinctly remember my first kiss with Russell Simon, that's why I call it Russell Park. I don't know the real name of it. I don't think anybody does. To me it's just Russell Park. 

This side of the street was a place I had yet to explore. There was a sign with an arrow that caught my eye. It said One Night Art Gallery: Vince Blunt. The One Night Art Gallery was a place that Dad had told about me when he was looking over ads in the paper. He told me that that is a huge empty space with white walls, whose owner rents it out for one night at a time to aspiring artists. I hadn't ever seen it in person. The last time I had heard about it was about a year ago, when Dad went to see some paintings there out of boredom. 

I peered in and saw something short of a crowd. There were about twenty people in there, and a few caterers carrying around shrimp. The walls were covered in black and white photographs. I couldn't tell who Vince Blunt was, because nobody seemed to stand out as the artist. 

I shrugged and walked in, then instantly felt out of place in my jeans and rubber boots. The black trench coat looked a bit presentable, I guess. But that was about the only thing that made me look like one of the art viewers. 

Some gave me glances, as if noticing how out-of-place I happened to look. I tried to shrug them off and pretended to look interested in a photograph of a boy in a wagon, staring at a cat. 

Each of these photographs said the name of the piece and right below it "Vince Blunt". This one was called "Boy in Wagon Staring at Cat." 

How creative. 

I turned around and a man caught my eye. He looked about my age, with black-brown hair that was spiked at the top of his head. He was showing a woman in a black dress, holding a shrimp, a painting called "Dogs Playing Monopoly". While he was doing hand gestures and talking to this woman, he was staring intently at me. 

And I stared back.

He too wore jeans, only his were darker and therefor more like suit pants whereas mine were a light, faded color that stood out more. 

He also wore a black suit jacket and a silver concert T shirt under it. I gave him a half-smile, which he returned. The woman caught on and walked away, and I pretended to be interested in another photo called "Fly on Ceiling" as he started toward me. 

I bit my lip, waiting for a hand to tap my shoulder. This brown haired jean-wearer looked just as out of place as I was in this exhibit and I wondered if he was there for the same reason I was- to explore. 

I turned around when somebody tapped my shoulder, the way I had expected them to. I turned around and smiled. His mouth was forming words to talk to me with. Finally, he said, "Hi." But even still it seemed like a tongue twister, which had become jumbled upon his speaking it. 

I was about to respond, when somebody joined us. 

It was a man in a black suit, with a long beard. He had glasses, which looked as if they were about to fall off of his nose in a second. "Vince, explain to me the concept behind 'Russian Girl at Amusment Park'." The man said, directing it to the boy who had just said hi to me. 

He was Vince Blunt, apparently. 

Vince gave me an apologetic look as he walked away with the impatient looking man. I didn't know what to feel, that this artist had just spoken to me. Even if it was one word, it meant more and I could swear that he had only said that because he didn't know what else to say. 

"Bye." I whispered. 

I didn't know what else to say. 

Author's Note

Thanks so much for the last reviews I got! :D

Reviews

[Rainbow Rider]

Nice story. By the third paragraph I felt I was looking thru your eyes and seeing what you saw. If I may, I think it would read a little better if you rearranged and changed some styleing in your writting to make it easier for the reader to envision. Take the second paragraph. "That's exactly what I decided to do on the crisp, breezy night of March 3rd. My rubber boots plopping thier way down the steps leading to the sidewalk, where six years ago, me and Becky Anderson had carved our names in the freshly poured cement. Becky had lived in the house next door, and was my best friend in kindergarten. She moved away almost fours years ago, and now every time I walk down these steps and see those scraggly letters I think about Becky, and wonder what she was doing today, and if she ever thought about me." As I said, the story if fine the way it is and nicely written, but taking the first sentence of this paragraph as an example, it is easier for the reader to follow the sentence if you incorporate the full meaning of the sentence as a whole instead of telling the reader it was one night and then giving the date. Just a thought. Don't change this writting though, you wrote it as you did, and you should keep that way, my suggestion is for future writtings.