The late afternoon sunlight filters
blithely through the branches of the overhead trees. They cast just enough shadow to engulf the
serene, blue fountain in darkness, but bathe the benches across the water in
dazzling warmth. The water dances in the
light, January breeze; the same breeze brushes my hair across my face.
In this beautiful weather, the
circle is abuzz with activity. An
elderly couple meanders past, each holding the hand of a young girl, maybe
three or four years old. The girl immediately
runs to investigate the fountain. The
woman encourages the child’s curiosity by pointing out “look, it’s
changing”. After the girl’s intrigue has
been satiated, the group moves along. As
they leave, the woman reminds her granddaughter to “wipe your hands on your
shirt, remember its just water.”
A few moments later, a young mother
passes by with her four-year-old daughter.
This little girl is sporting a striped, pink dress and little curly
pigtails tied off with sparkly bands.
The pair passes the fountain and instead unfolds a bright pink blanket
at the base of a large evergreen, creating a makeshift picnic area.
Almost simultaneously, yet another
young mother comes along, this time with a baby who is still learning to
walk. She clutches her infant’s hands as
the child teeters along the edge of the fountain. The woman lifts the baby up and perches her
on the edge of the fountain. Then she aids the young one in walking delicately
around the rim of the large pool of water.
Over the gurgling and splashing comes the easily recognizable cooing and
giggling of a new mother with her child.
The baby stretches it’s feet toward the shimmering pool of blue, barely
splashing her toes in the surface.
Another mother comes along, this
time accompanied by a four-year-old boy in a black shirt with fiery red hair
and a toddler donned in grey. The older
boy insists on playing hide and seek, darting behind the large tree where the
picnic is still occurring.
Meanwhile, the young couple has
engaged their baby in a game of peek a boo, completely covering the child’s
head with her mothers straw hat.
Occasionally they pause the game to shower their baby in kisses. As they hold the hat above the kid’s head,
tiny hands stretch upward, trying to grasp the new toy.
“Mom, come get me!” The redheaded
boy exclaims. “I’m gonna get you!” his
mother responds playfully. When it’s her
turn to be “it” the woman runs around the circle with exaggerated slowness,
giving her son a fair chance to catch up.
“Excuse me, are you a registered
California voter? I look up from my mess of sloppy quotes and blue lines. In front of me is a tall black man with gray
hair and glasses holding a bundle of papers.
I reply “yes”, truthfully. He
goes on to explain that he wants to have a law lowering the cost of healthcare
put on the ballot and needs two hundred signatures. I’m generally skeptical about solicitors, but
seeing no harm in having the option to vote on something, I agree to sign. He thanks me and moves on the fiery hair boy’s
parents.
Shortly after, the two
four-year-olds have discovered each other.
Their moms attempt to encourage conversation, but the girl shyly smiles
and ducks her face, hiding against her mother.
“Don’t be shy,” her mom urges.
“How old are you?” the boy’s mother asks the girl; she enthusiastically
holds out four fingers. Amidst the white
noise surrounding me, I hear the girl’s mom saying to the boy, you’re four,
too? What’s your name?” “Wyatt” is the response. After some coaxing the two children engage in
a mixed game of hide and go seek and tag.
“Don’t run with the lollipop!” the adults warn the girl. As she attempts to catch the fiery redhead,
the supervisors comment on her chances.
One mother declares “it’s like no match at this point,” referring to the
to the boy’s obvious advantage. The girl
takes a break and wanders over to the water fountain for a drink, standing on
her tiptoes to reach the flow. The boy
dubs this lack of attention unacceptable and quickly tries to recapture her
interest. “Heeeey!” he taunts, coming up
behind her. He pus his face directly in
front of hers and runs away. Only too
soon, the game is over and the two must part ways. The girl’s mother calls out “bye Wyatt!” as
he straps on his on green triceratops helmet and leaves on his razor scooter.
Across the fountain, a man on the
verge of his golden years has been sitting in a green windbreaker for quite
some time with his Jack Russell terrier on his lap. Both the man and the dog have been content to
relax by the rushing water, watching the townspeople come and go, but now it is
time to leave. The man gives his furry
friend a kiss on the top of its head and sets the creature on the ground. The two take their time as they head home.
Meanwhile, a group of young
teenagers pass, each holding a Starbucks cup.
There are two boys and a girl whose plaid skirt proclaims private
school. As they go by, their matching St
John’s sweatshirts confirm this assumption.
“God damn it’s cold,” one boy hypotheses about the fountain. They nonchalantly dip their into the water as
if to confirm this theory. As they
continue on their way down Chapman Avenue, one boy makes a very reckless,
teenage decision and darts between the traffic to the sidewalk.
“Hi,” a high-pitched voice
immediately in front of me chirps. I
look up into the big blue/green eyes of the little girl with the pigtails. Of course I say “hi” back and she smiles and
runs off to investigate the fountain for what must be the tenth time
today. Her leggings, bare feet, and
irritable curiosity remind me of my own childhood.
As the sun finally starts to set, a
young man in a black backwards baseball cap begins to strum away at an acoustic
guitar.
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