Early afternoon in an early year, maybe too early for anyone to
care: A field of flowers, slapped to the sides by a torrential wind
threatening rain. Still, the brothers pushed on, mumbling through th
icy air of the view rumored to be so great over a peak that was
running from them. The tot, dandelions in his face and eyes from a
slight disadvantage on height, sneezed the pollen away every few
minutes, thus earning the attention of his brother, who remained
standing and non-allergic.
"Come on, Johnny," the taller one – Leroy, as
remembered – whispered, "We've got to see that view." To
any loafing passerby with children and picnic baskets dangling from
their fattening wrists, a phrase as such would be considered cute,
whereas the boys only understood the hollowness in the promise.
The boys kept walking, leaving a trail of trampled stems. Over
their sneakers fell petals and dandelion pollen, wafting up
dangerously close to Johnny's nose. Leroy absentmindedly bent down
and dabbed at his brother's nose with a small cloth. The cloth was
more or less clean, rubbed down weekly with the apple soap. After
several nose-pattings and words of empty reassuring, Johnny at last
broke free from Leroy's vice-like grip, running in his knee-less
fashion towards a rock overlooking the coast.
But, there was no coast. No beach, no shining sun, no soaring
gulls. Looking back at Leroy, Johnny shrugged.
"Lookit!" he exclaimed, not sure as to what
else there was to say. Pre-programmed phrases still made up half of
what his vocabulary. Leroy put his arm around Johnny.
"Yeah, what a view." Staring into the thick and
standing fog, the boys saw more with their minds' eyes, just as they
had been told.
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