The Girl with the Hazel Eyes

Used with permission from the author

The sun was making its descent in the sky as I wandered down to the little copse of trees behind the Bailey house. That’s the first time I took note of how the average day transforms into night. Daytime is always bright and saturated with vivid shades of blue and green, highlighted with splashes of other colours, all of them so highly pronounced it’s almost too overwhelming to take them in. But twilight is different. I remember being amazed by how the golden light softened the bright green grass that was coming alive with the nightlife. The crickets chirped ever so quietly at first, tentatively as though they were making sure the humans went to bed before they came out. A little later, the dew blanketed the world with delicate silver droplets that glistened in the moonlight.

That’s when I became poignantly aware of the world around me. After that, I started seeing all of the nuances that we take for granted. I started to truly understand writing; how describing the things I saw in my head made all the difference between creating an enchanting scene or writing utter dribble.

I was reflecting that maybe I might have fared better if I had suggested I would just “help” Mrs. Bailey when something landed on my head. Reaching up, I was shocked –- and more than thrilled –- to realize that it was a sweet biscuit. I glanced up and saw Kenneth smirking down at me from the cover of the tree branches above.

He beckoned me to climb up, looking around quickly to make sure the coast was clear. I made my way up the golden apple tree carefully, knowing the roughness of the tree bark would easily tear the hem of my dress if I wasn’t careful. I didn’t need another cut ass that evening.

“Wha’ you doing up here?” I asked him breathlessly as I settled into the forked branch next to him.

The gentle glow of the sunset highlighted the sparkle in his eyes as his face lit up with a roguish grin. “I always come up here to eat on evenings.” He held out a piece of cheese that had been roughly broken off a big block. It was warm and flecked with bits of lint. “Sorry about the fuzz; I keep it in my pocket,” he explained as he dusted it off before handing it to me.

I said thanks before tossing it in my mouth, lint and all, choking slightly on it as it slid down my throat. Kenneth chuckled lightly.

“Mummy’s food isn’t the best, but me and Daddy are accustomed to it.” Kenneth shrugged self-consciously. “Daddy always gives me snacks every evening but tells me to go outside and eat so I don’t hurt her feelings.”

I took the next biscuit that he offered and we both munched quietly in silence before I turned to him and asked, “Is that really all your mummy can cook?”

“Well… no. It’s just that we had so many expired biscuits and sardines that Mummy is making those two recipes until they run out. Daddy lets me eat the fresh biscuits though. You’re lucky. A few weeks ago we ate fried ham all day, every day for three weeks. At least now there’s variety.”

I laughed. Kenneth’s eyes lit up mischievously as he contemplated me quietly for a moment. “Be honest: if someone had a gun to your head and threatened to shoot if you didn’t eat one, would you choose the fried biscuits or the fish dumplings?”

“I’d eat the bullet.”

Our eyes met as we tried to stifle our laughter but it didn’t work. Kenneth and I broke into a fit of giggles.

He smiled broadly, staring at me for a while. It made me a little nervous to have him watching me like that. I turned away and looked toward the horizon. The sun was setting just over the vast cane fields in the distance. It was October and by then the land was stripped bare of canes and stretched as far as the eye could see. It was amazing to see it from that height and take in the majesty of the sunset from such a miraculous vantage point.

“Did you ever notice how the sunlight changes from white during the daytime to that pretty gold when it sets? The way it paints everything in the world in a colour that isn’t orange or yellow or pink but a soft blend of all three?”

Kenneth raised one eyebrow at me thoughtfully, both surprised and confused by what I was saying. He turned to the cane fields and a look of awe and comprehension dawned on his face before he smiled broadly.

“Yeah. I don’t think I ever noticed that before, you know. Did you read that in one of those old books I always see you with?”

I laughed. “No, I noticed it right before I climbed the tree.”

“Hmm…”

“What?”

“Are you sure you didn’t read that in a book?” he asked again.

I glared at him and said haughtily, “I told you I didn’t.”

Satisfied, he nodded sagely and then surprised me by saying, “You should write down the things you say. You describe something really hard in just a few words. It would have taken me about ten hours to explain that sun thing.”

I felt quite pleased with myself at this nice compliment from a boy. A blush crept up my cheeks and he didn’t even try to make me feel embarrassed about it. He just took two more broken crackers from his pocket and handed me one.

We sat there as quiet as anything while the light waned and the crickets turned up the volume on their chirping but little did Kenneth realized that he had watered the seed that my mother had planted in my mind. Writing was my gift and when someone is truly talented, their gift comes so effortlessly that it’s easy to take it for granted. Even now, decades later, I still can’t believe that Kenneth honed in on that aspect of my personality so easily. At that moment something clicked between us. Just like the knack that Kenneth saw I had for writing, our friendship came to us effortlessly.

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