The Golden Boy

A Short Story.

I was five when I first met Ray. I remember the encounter vividly, weeks before kindergarten was to start. Ray had moved in with his grandma, and she lived two doors down from us. I’d never even seen the woman before – until that humiliating, hot August day.

“Get out of here!” She shouted, her wrinkled face hidden behind her porch screen. “You are not to play with Ray again. Ever! You hear me?”

I was not aware of the seriousness of my crime at the time, but I was still shaken. I’d never been scolded by a stranger before!

I had no interest in sex, and can assure you that my motives were pure – prompted by childhood curiosity, I’d imagine. On the sidewalk in front of Ray’s grandmother’s house, I offered him a deal.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours!” I bargained.

Ray smiled and nodded, so I pulled his elastic waistband and leaned over to peer inside. That’s when his grandmother yelled, and I lost the right to play with my new neighbor.

My embarrassment was short lived. It’s possible that it lasted the day, but certainly no longer. I don’t remember much about Ray after that, either, except for the first day of kindergarten. 

Ray came in late and sat beside me on the rug, his curly hair a little too long and unruly. He was wearing wireframe glasses that made his big brown eyes look huge.

“Hey four eyes!” Freddy mocked. 

Most of us knew Freddy from PreK. He was an ass, a bully, and he picked on everyone. But Ray was new, and he didn’t know Freddy – or any of us for that matter. His big eyes turned red and then he started to cry, and he wouldn’t stop. 

The teacher had to send for the aide, and the aide came and took Ray out of class. I never saw him again. 

Until fifteen years later, that is, when I was working at Leon’s Records, at the outdoor mall. I was going through section E – J, trying to decide if Elton John should go under E or J, and Freddy came over and elbowed me in the ribs.

“Check out this golden boy,” he whispered, nodding toward the counter. His sarcasm was not lost on me.

There, near the register, was a tall, handsome young man, waiting to pay for the new Steely Dan album. Two men, who appeared to be bodyguards of some sort, were stationed at his side.

He was hard to recognize, but it was Ray. I was sure of it. That hair, that chin, and those big brown eyes.

He noticed me looking, smiled and nodded… and suddenly I was five again. Looking in his drawers. Humiliated.

READ ON

I’m back with a new short story, and I can tell you already that this one will be more difficult to finish than the last. I’m hoping for a miracle!

I started with the illustration, and thought I’d use the young man’s scarf as the prop. That was after my original prop idea, which was a vinyl record player.

Unfortunately, the scarf got buried in the story when I decided to let the narrator take control, and I spaced about the record player until just now. Thankfully, the era I’ve written about is correct, so the record player may make an appearance in the next chapter (and perhaps the scarf, too).

That’s about all for now. I’ve nothing new to share at the moment – life is good and all is well.

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it so far!