It is quiet here in the park. The birds seem happy, their whistles and chirping fluttering through the trees as the wind rushes in a quick breaths through the foliage. A soft chuckle of a stream sounds in the distance. I sit alone on a bench under a tree that seems to be rejoicing in life as it spreads its boughs to the brilliant blue of the sky above.
Now the peaceful calm is shattered by a chorus of children's voices as they rush past me, their chattering a human version of the birds'. To my relief, their loud voices fade into silence as they pass out of hearing distance. My eyes close and I again revel in the feeling of peace and creation rejoicing in life.
All of the sudden, I hear a quiet whimper. My eyes open, I turn. And there, on the ground, is a small boy. He is staring at me with wide, innocent blue eyes. Is he scared of me? I can't exactly tell from his expression. He seems to be in pain more than anything else.
Slowly, I get up and make my way to where he sits on the cement. "What's wrong?" I practically whisper the words, so afraid that I'll scare him off if I speak any louder.
He actually shies away from me and a pang of sorrow tears at my heart. Have I changed that much in the years since I've left home?
"Hey, hey. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." I pause, waiting for a response. But there is none. His blue eyes continue to bore into me, straight to my soul it seems. "Are – are you hurt?"
He blinks at me and then nods slowly, lifting his leg and pointing to his skinned knee. "But the spider hurts more," he whispers.
What spider? I don't respond to that comment, but instead focus on the trickle of blood running down his shin. I don't want to ask him to come with me to the stream so he can clean up his leg . . . so I go by myself. Kneeling beside the stream a moment later, I cup water into my hands, holding it there as I make my way back to the blue-eyed boy's side.
"Here we are." I kneel again beside him and let the water break free of my hold and cleanse the blood from his skin. He blinks up at me again as though he can't comprehend what I've just done.
"I – I don't have a band-aid. I'm sorry." I attempt a smile . . . but I think it comes out wrong. His lips begin to tremble and tears well up in his eyes. "I'm sorry. Did I . . . did I do something wrong?"
His head shakes and he holds out his closed hand. I hadn't noticed that before. Gradually, he opens it, revealing that he is indeed holding a spider, then he whispers, "Can you make the spider better, too?" Two tears trail down his cheeks.
"I don't know. I've never had to . . . make spiders better before." I give him another smile, this one seeming to be stronger than the last. Bending a bit closer, I see that the spider is indeed hurt. Two of its legs drag mangled by its side. It doesn't seem to be moving. I subconsciously hope that the spider isn't a poisonous one.
"Well . . . uhm . . . " What do you do with broken spider legs?
"You can fix him, can't you?" He looks at me eagerly through his tears.
"Well . . . I'm not . . . quite sure." I bite my lip and take the spider gently from him. It struggles a moment and then gives up. Moving cautiously, I turn my back on the boy, hoping that I'm actually doing something that will help in the long run, and gently pull the broken legs off. What else can I do? I can't let this creature run around dragging useless legs with it, can I? Maybe its legs will grow back. I don't know. I don't remember much about arachnids.
Releasing a soft breath of air, I swivel to the boy and hold out my hand, the spider resting on my palm. "I had to take his legs off. I don't want him hurting himself more with them like that."
The boy sniffles. "It's my fault. It is. I hurted him. I – I did it on accident."
I flinch; I honestly don't know how to maneuver my way through this situation. "It's okay. Trust me. The spider's fine now. He's a brave fellow and I think he forgives you. He may be missing two legs now, but he doesn't hate you."
He brightens. "He doesn't? Are you sure? And what's brave mean?"
I gently lay the spider in his outstretched hand. "He doesn't. I'm quite sure of it." I pause. "Brave . . . brave means that you're able to face your fears without turning away."
He gives me a brilliant smile that cheers my heart. "You're brave."
Then I frown, puzzled by his comment. "I . . . am?"
"Yeah. Most people don't like spiders." He gets up, closing his hand around the spider again. "Thank you, sir. I should go where everybody else is."
I push down the chuckle bubbling up in my throat. "Ah. I see. All right then. Do you know where they are?"
He nods and then reaches up. Involuntarily, I pull away, unused to being touched by someone. He doesn't seem to notice as he finally grasps my hand and pulls me along after him. "We're going to find them. That's a quest."
I study his bright face for a moment before allowing myself that chuckle.