The Meadow

         The world held a lot of secrets. Jeffrey Blair, at the age of eleven, already knew this. Even at such a young age his own life was filled with secrets. There were secrets that he created, secrets that others told him, and even secrets that seemed to appear out of nowhere. But while sitting in his meadow, he felt like his secrets were miles away.

         Jeffrey held secrets any typical boy of his age did. He kept hidden the pond in the woods that held the largest frogs, and he never told a soul about the rotten log that was filled with the creepiest bugs. And there was the spider he kept in a jar at school, and the homeless dog by the mill that he fed when he came home from school.

         These minor hidden treasures that he held in his life did not torment him in his sleep. They did not wake him to shadows of evil that haunted his life. It was the deeper things that bothered him. Like why was the basement always locked? Or how come his father was always yelling out illogical phrases? It was such things that led little Jeffrey Blair to believe not everything could be answered.

         While he sat upon his hill, looking over the meadow, he couldn’t help but think about odd instances in his life. For example, just two weeks ago his mother made him swear not to tell anyone about the visitor to their home. Jeffrey did not know why this was important. There seemed nothing wrong with the man. He was a bit younger than his father, and of a different appearance with clean pants and trim cuffs, but his smile was warm and genuine. But when this man came to the house, only his mother was home, and sometimes Jeffrey.

         Jeffrey hid other secrets, secrets of his family. He wore long shirts to cover the bruises on his arms. He hid the whispers that filled the houseso naturally. He hid tears of pain locked in his lonely room. He had no one to share them with. His mother was very protective of her only child. Jeffrey hardly played with others. He hardly played period. He never had a choice.

         All the secrets fit perfectly into the old dark house that Jeffrey lived in. Jeffrey had lived there ever since he could remember. It held many memories, some Jeffrey had only heard mentioned and never witnessed. He remembered when his aunt fell down the stairs, and when the police came to take away his uncle for a few days. He remembered his mother washing the floors often, complaining about red stains and markings. He found the positioning of the lamps and furniture in the rooms very unusual. Every inch of the house watched Jeffrey carefully, and he could feel it.

         The meadow, however, was different. Behind the old house, past the broken truck and rusty iron fence was where one could find the meadow. A vast field of waxy grass and yellow flowers, it was here that Jeffrey called it home. Nothing foul or old or dark could taint his view. Only open sky, fresh air and the occasional animal greeted him here. With a sigh Jeffrey was reminded of the comfort.

         Jeffrey rose from his sitting position, his eyes still gazing upon the meadow. It was peaceful, a contradiction of what he knew. He started his way back to his house, knowing his mother would be angry if he stayed out too long. On his way a glimmering object in the dirt attracted his eye. He took a few steps towards it, his curiosity rising. Maybe a shiny rock a bird had dropped it or the rabbits had uncovered it.

         As he grew closer to the small item, he noticed an odd shape laying upon the ground under it. After a moment of studying the object in shadow Jeffrey recognized it to be that of an arm sticking up from under the dirt. The small item that had attracted Jeffrey’s eyes was soon recognized as a gold pin set upon a very neatly trimmed cuff.

         “Jeffrey!” his mother‘s voice called out behind him. It startled him. “Jeffrey, what did I tell you about being out so late?”

         Jeffrey did not reply. He was still too busy gazing upon the arm that lay in the dirt. His mother stood next to him wondering why he did not reply. “Jeffrey? What are you looking at?” she asked, soon following her gaze to the arm.

         She did not gasp like a lady would, nor faint. Instead, she stood calmly, umbrella over shoulder to block out the sun, and then walked a bit closer for a better look. She turned back to her son, then to the arm, and stood there between the two.

         The meadow was silent. The air was cool and the sun warm. The clouds gathered overhead in such an odd form that it appeared as if they too were staring upon the body. Jeffrey’s mother walked backed to her son and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him towards the house.

         “There is nothing there, Jeffrey,“ she said firmly as she looked into his eyes. He nodded, and then looked back at the silent reminder. The world worked on an untold axis of secrets. Not even his meadow was safe from it.

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Inspired by:
** #926455 Not An Image **
"Le Promenade" by Claude Monet

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