The Wading Pool

The Bowing Tea Leaf café was separated by a small pond that couldn't have been deeper than two feet. Red-Eared Sliders sat on the rocks in the pond and hoped for sunlight, but instead receiving nothing but the beating of the wind outside, which surreptitiously blew the snow around into small and hidden whirlwinds. And the Koi in the pond swam endlessly in circles that caught a boy's attention.

His timid nature was conspicuous and characteristic, yet it was also un-overwhelming and full of charm. It was apparent by the booth he sat in at the far corner of the café and the way he hid his eyes behind the book he was reading—The Call of the Wild by Jack London. Whenever people saw him, he always had a book in his hands and a pleasant yet guarded look on his face. The boy was an orphan.

After he was born his parents were never heard from again, and they left him to his father's parents. His grandparents had passed on to glory seven years earlier, leaving all the money they had to him. And he was left to be raised by his grandfather's best friend and owner of the Bowing Tea Leaf café, Sully.

On the streets of Portland, people young and old would pass him by, they would wave their hands, say "hello," and smile. He would smile in return, but never spoke nor waved back. It had always been this way, in fact, it was only Sully who had heard him speak. All the costumers knew of him, they knew his story, and they knew his personality. Yet the many costumers of the Bow Tea Leaf café knew not of boy's voice.

The night was cool and wintry, and the Christmas lights on the block illuminated everything in sight. The street was painted with tire tracks and snow came down from the sky gently.

The boy was caught up in mind-blowing fantasies of the wilderness and the frozen North. He was exhilarated by the thought of its ruggedness and fascinated by the idea of it unforgiving temperament. The city of reality that sped around him held little captivation compared to the world of enchantment in his head, so often times when talking became necessary he found himself at a loss for words. This night would be like nothing he had ever known, and the moment that would change everything was about to unfold and the person that would change him completely was about to walk through the door. The bells on the door sang, and the boy averted he eyes from the book.

A new boy entered. The green and grey striped scarf which was draped loosely around his neck, the mitts on his hands, and the beanie hat on his head all matched. His eyes were a light and fluffy blue and his skin was pale. The boy pulled off his mitts, beanie hat, and unwrapped the scarf from his neck. He examined the café, when his eyes met with the boy's at the booth in the furthest corner of the shop a shameless smile rolled across his face, the boy at the booth hid his eyes behind the book. The boy who had just entered the café walked down the aisle on the left side of the pond that led to the booth and sat directly next to the boy.

"Hi." His blue eyes pierced the boy he sat next to.

The boy knew it was impolite to not to reply.

He still hid his eyes behind the book, which still kept the new boy from seeing their color.

He was silent.

"Do you have a name?" The new boy was prying.

"Yes." He said earnestly and continuing to hide his eyes.

"Are you always this quiet and distant?" He made a face, the new boy did.

"Are you always so forward?" He sat his cheek on his hand.

"Only when I am not getting my way." The new boy brushed his hair aside.

"That should make this go by fast." He was irritated.

"Is it fair to add stubborn to the list of things I've noticed about you in the last ten seconds?" The new boy squinted his eyes.

"Kriss." He said finally.

Kriss continued reading his book—hiding his eyes once more. Twain pushed it down to the table and stared at Kriss intently, captivated by the striking, and quietly intense eyes Kriss held.

The two sat and stared at each other for a time.

Kriss broke the silence.

"What are you looking at?" Kriss was confused.

"You." There was only wonder on the new boy's face.

"If my uncle sees you..." Kriss warned him.

"He'll what? Is it your uncle you're afraid of or is it me?"

Kriss didn't speak.

"Is Kris short for Kristopher?" Kriss began to raise his book again and the new boy pulled back to the table.

"It's called conversation." The new boy laughed.

Kriss remained silent.

"How long will you keep this up?" He brushed his hair aside once more.

His eyes met Kriss'.

"No, it's not short for Kristopher. It's Krissette."

Kriss pulled a napkin from a container on the table and picked up a pen a waiter had left behind.

"It's spelled K-R-I-S-S-E-T-T-E."

Kriss shrank back in his seat.

The fascination on the new boy's face was evident, it was so clear. Whether it was Krissette's green eyes or his dark skin couldn't really be told. Kriss had new boy's complete attention, nothing could distract him, not the party of people that suddenly entered the café, nor the new profound silence that fell over the café as all eyes became fixed on the two. Krissette had his hair pulled back.

"I like it. It fits you. It matches your gentle eyes, your skin, even the way you always wear your hair pulled back." The new boy tilted his head as he examined Kriss.

"Always?" Kriss was confused, had the new boy been watching him?

The two were suddenly silent.

The silence ended and the crowd in the café suddenly resumed its gibberish-like upheaval, that was so gentle one could hardly call it a string of multiple conversations. But, the funny thing was, the upheaval had taken a new topic. The crowd no longer talked about how Christmas was coming, or how their parents were flying into town, or how they planned to spend their anniversaries; it had become about the peculiar boy who had somehow managed to attract Kriss' attention. Their mouths had dropped open in shock and their eyes had widened in surprise, and the upheaval continued. The new boy put his hand on Kriss' cheek and traced it back to his side-burn and when his fingers reached the thick of his curly red hair, he pulled it free of a black hair tie.

Kriss took a deep breath.

"So what's the secret? How, or better yet, why do you keep so quiet?"

Kriss didn't answer... yet.

"Who says there's any secret at all. When the world around you holds little interest compared to a world you've created entirely on your own, there are never enough words, there are no words good enough to describe it." Kriss remained still as Twain continued to rest his hand on his cheek. "Well, maybe that is the secret. Beauty is the best secret there is, it's so unpredictable, it always comes when you least expect it."

Kriss too, was fascinated. Could anyone be sure whether it was the long length of the new boy's tall body or the muscles of his chest and arms that could clearly be seen through the sweater he wore? There was no way to tell either, if it was the new boy's mind that caught Kriss' attention. Was it the way the new boy thought, that made him stand out in Kriss' imagination, because it was true, very few things in Portland managed to catch his focused gaze. But, yet Twain had. He had done what no boy, no man, no girl, no woman had yet done. Twain had seen in Krissette what others had not and he was somehow able to nurture it, to pierce it, in order to snap Kriss out of his endless daydream.

"So, is there a name for the man who's been watching me all over town?" Kriss eyed the new boy intently and took his hand away from his cheek.

He laughed nervously, "It's Twain." The boy put his hand on his strong chest, gesturing politely.

"What possessed you, last week in the park...?" Kriss cut his eyes at Twain.

"Should I know what you're talking about?" He looked away from Kriss in cool avoidance. Kriss raised his left eyebrow.

"Gonna answer?" Kriss paused and grasped Twain's chin, forcing him took him in the eyes, "I maybe be a daydreamer, but I promise, I am not as unobservant as I seem. You were watching me, Twain." Kriss' eyes suddenly got bright and he gave Twain a smile.

"Yes, I was." He brushed his hair aside.

"And the time I was unloading supplies from the truck." Kriss continued to smile.` "It was dark, and I have personal issues with that alley, I only watched until you were done unloading. Crime rate's up." Twain looked away again.

"I'm guessing you actually mean that. Thank you."

"No problem." Twain said, "Do me a favor though, no more dark alleys. I can't always be there to make sure you're safe. Neither can Sully." The hesitation in Twain's voice was given away by the worry on his face. "And why do you go so many places alone in the first place, it must worry your uncle?"

"I guess you can call me obnoxiously independent, it drives my uncle insane." Kriss laughed.

"In all the times I've watched you, I've never seen you laugh." Twain paused and took a deep breath.

"But, the next time you want to go out at night all alone, don't. Promise me that you will call and I'll meet you." Twain tried hard to lighten how serious he was and he slid Kriss his phone number.

"You're a perfect stranger, I can't believe what I am about to do, but I promise I will." Kriss put his cheek on his hand and put the number in his pocket.

Twain contemplated what he would say next, he kept his eyes gentle and then spoke.

"Well, we're not exactly strangers, I know your Uncle Sully." Twain admitted.

"I figured as much, I never mentioned what my uncle's name was."

"Blake Sullivan, my biological grandfather, your grandfather's best friend. They met fifty years ago in the military and when I came to Portland for school he asked me to keep an eye on you, so, I said okay." He continued to admit, making sure to avoid eye contact.

Krissette suddenly had an epiphany.

"Wait a minute, your name is Twain? You're named after my grandfather!" Kriss suddenly took his cheek from his hand and his eyes grew wide.

"Yes, Twain Mark Sullivan, that's me."

"My grandfather's name was Twain Mark Reynolds." Kriss announced.

The conversation had taken a pause. Twain took a minute to give Kriss room to breathe before he spoke again. And the crowd in the café still buzzed with heat as the topic of conversation remained the same.

"Yes, I know. And your father's name is Blake Sullivan Reynolds, mine's name is.."

"Mark Reynolds Sullivan." Kriss cut him off.

"Exactly." Twain brushed his hair aside. "If my father is first and middle named after your grandfather, who are you named after?"

"Well, my grandfather never told me who my first name was after, but my middle name Blake, is definitely after Uncle Sully." Krissette twisted the end of one of the locks of his hair.

"Maybe we will find out someday." Twain declared auspiciously, staring deeply into Krissette's eyes and thought only of the path he was heading, as he could no longer imagine any path in life without this boy.

The face of everything in life had suddenly changed for the two. Krissette was still shy beyond all words and Twain was as determined as ever. But, their personalities didn't seem to mean as much without the other to compliment it, Krissette's shyness was a twinge less un-overwhelmingly full of charm without Twain's willpower to nurture it, and the same in vice versa. In that very moment Krissette was changed forever, he was still captivated by the lands and dreams of his imagination, but now he was also captivated by this new boy, the boy who changed everything. And the same could be said for Twain, he was still determined and driven by will alone, but now he knew that Krissette was now his only willpower.

Krissette motioned Twain to let him out of the booth, Twain sat back at the seat as Kriss eyed him intensely, "Maybe someday we will."

Krissette proceeded to walk down the aisle toward the exit of the café.

"Where are you going?" Twain called out, sliding a little way out of the seat in confusion.

"I guess you'll have to find out, won't you." Kriss turned around smoothly, talking while continuing to walk backwards, it was a statement instead of a question.

TO BE CONTINUED...