A young boy discovers what he loves in the world.
|Jimmy was just nine years old when his mother died. No one ever got around to telling him the reason why. Just that she had and there was nothing anyone could or would do about it. Best to just move on and let these things be. His father must have known this to be true; since once he was out of prison, he flew the coop- never to return.
Jimmy thought it must be nice to be free. Be able to go where you want and no one to tell you otherwise. No one to whisper behind your back when they thought you couldn’t hear. Well Jimmy heard, even if he didn’t let on. What could he do? Best to just keep on moving.
His grandfather didn’t think much of his arriving on his doorstep. He thought him strange.And for the most part let him be. Just keep out of my rutabagas, he warned. Or you’ll be sorry. So, Jimmy did, and that was the end of that.
His grandmother liked having him around though. She always smiled when he came out to observe her in her herb garden. She was never so happy as she was when she was tending to those little plants she was so invested in. She saw him staring once and admonished him. There now, stop that, she said. Find something you enjoy and do it. So, Jimmy set off to do just that.
He found it was easy enough where to look. He was always good with a pen in hand. Maybe he couldn’t vocalize but he could put pen to paper and he was off. It could be lonely at times. But he felt, so long as he had this, his writing- he’d be alright. He’d make his way in the world.