Mushrooms and Little Girls
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The beautiful little girl in the wide, blooming hat: It was like an elegant dome upon a dainty sparrow. I could barely remember her name (it was just as dainty) but once it came to me, an invisible wave of happiness pulled from my chest down, throughout my body.
I felt completely comfortable standing in the middle of the kickball filed, in the middle of a game, staring at her shamelessly. All the other kids ran and laughed and played around me in a background-like silence. They were the extras in a play and we were in the spotlight.
She was standing a few meters away from me, sideways-facing but full-on beautiful. She was clutching her tiny hands underneath her tinier chin, balancing back a bit and watching the rest of the playground cautiously. One of her friends, I suppose, would run by her and she would give them a weary smile, but I kept my eyes locked on her prettiness.
Someone yelled my name and a kickball rolled toward me (I noticed its utter insignificance from the corner of my eye). I moved after it a bit but was recaptured by her sudden intent toward me. My hand came up involuntarily to my mouth and I placed a finger between my lips, to my front teeth. Was she looking at me? Had I finally gained a bigger role in this play about her? She frowned. Her hands clenched up and she drew back more, squinted her eyes, and gave me a most unpleasant reaction. But it surely wasn’t for me. It was the background that had upset this wee sparrow.
I glanced around; a chubby, sweaty kid was saying something to her and a freckly, sweaty kid was laughing. Another freckly but skinny kid was pointing and laughing while a group of boys to my right (all composed of more sweat and freckles—how repulsive they collectively seemed) laughed or sneered in their own childish ways. What was this about? I looked back at her. Maybe she had an answer. But…but her? There were laughing at her? I felt a sloshing wave of anxiety rise from within me as I gawked at her obviously growing irritation.
Every now and then, the background noise would be just comprehensible enough for me to understand a word or two. I heard her name a few times, “what’s that” a few more, and then mocking tones.
She frowned even further and her tiny hands became pebbles of fists. She shouted something bitterly at the speckled, dewy collective about me.
“So? At least I’m not some dumb mushroom!”
I was appalled. The fat, off-putting lad to my left had been tossing insults at this beautiful little bird of mine!? I quickly removed my hand from my mouth and glared at him as coldly as I could. Why in the world was she comparable to a mushroom anyway? I certainly didn’t see that!
“You’re the dumb mushroom!” her small, infuriated voice shot back.
“How am I a mushroom? I’m not the one wearing a dumb-looking mushroom hat!”
All of the kids roared with laughter as I felt my ears grow hot. But…but wait. Mushroom hat? I looked back at her. It wasn’t an elegant dome? Oh. It wasn’t an elegant dome. Not at all, quite the opposite. My sweaty, be-freckled chums were right. That was a mushroom hat. And you were an aggravated toadstool.
I honestly tried to fight against the smile working itself up on my face, but I ended up in laughter with the background. I was just part of the collective ugliness, but not sweaty.
I laughed with the most of them until tiny tears formed in the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t stop, it was just a witty observation by a friend made obvious to me, nothing personal. But then, tears formed in her eyes. It wasn’t on witty observation by anyone one, either. One of her friends took and pulled on her limp wrists, pulling her out of the spotlight, off stage. It was an ending that left a sour, guilty feeling within me. But I didn’t make her cry, right? Right.
The enchantment over her flew away (since the sparrow-image did the same ) and with it went the guilt and the sourness. I continued the kickball game with the sweaty, panting chubbies and skinnies of background noise while we continued to make ourselves laugh by thinking of mushrooms and little girls.
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This is beautifully written and I really liked reading it. The imagery was wonderful. However, I feel confused by the age of the narrator. All of the kids in the playground seem so young, but the narrator has such a mature voice. It was off-putting. Still, I really liked the images you painted...+1.
It was a good story, and definitely well-written. I didn't like the ending IN THAT I thought it was sad and not at all what I expected. That is also why I like the ending. That is by no means an ending I would have chosen to write, and I like that. Not everything can have a sweet, happy ending.
A definite plus one
Also, very very glad to see you back. Hope you stick around a little longer this time. Continue Fox Rot!
I love that style, being very eloquent with simplistic words and phrases, when talking about children... It adds an understood comprehension of the world by our little narrator... +1