Aftermath. (Part 1)

“And these?”, my eyes sparkled with childlike wonder as I pointed at the countlessbright yellow flowers spread through the garden, before me.

“Daffodils. You’ll find a lot of these here. Pretty, aren’t they?”, smiled Granny.
I nodded.
It was my second week at grandma’s, where I was supposed to spend the rest of my summer.She dwells permanently in the country side of America, her ultimate safe haven and refuses to ever consider living at any place else even after constant nagging from my father, let alone the city. But I do get the reason why. The country side, as they call it, lets you in with open arms; fills your lungs with the kind of air you are not familiar with, yet it leaves you feeling like you’re home.

I knew it was almost noon when I glanced at the sky, painting its reflection, for it was yellow diffusing in orange hues.

“Oh dear, I almost forgot. Grandpa would be home any minute now. Must get the table ready before he does.”, She paused. “North, aren’t you coming along?”

“Not now, grandma. I think I want to look around more and see what else this place has to offer.”
“Alright, dear. I’m sure it’ll be a treat for your eyes”, she said as she turned around placing her steps homeward.

I watched her hurry back home until she went completely out of sight.
I soon resumed my walking, looking around like I was, marveled at the visual treat before my eyes until after a while, the sight of a little boy caught my attention. He was, from what I supposed, not more than ten years of age, sitting with his arms folded round his knees, at a distant corner of the narrow lane.

It wasn’t the first time I was witnessing a child sitting all alone in a somewhat abandoned lane, too stubborn to look up. All my younger cousins have tried this before, to get things done their way.Not that it worked.

Nevertheless, I walked up to him and sat down beside him, hoping he would look up.
“Hi.”
He neither looked up nor responded.
“Um.. I’m North. And you would be…?”, I tried asking again, this time charmingly.
It was almost like I was talking to myself.
Getting him to respond now seemed absolutely nugatory and soon I lost my interest in indulging in it for any longer. I sighed, loud enough for him to hear it, and got up to walk back homeward when,

“Ben.”, a voice mumbled from behind.
I turned around.
“My name, it’s Ben.”, repeated a gloomy face.
I smiled.
As we got to talking, I learnt that he lived in a small town by the lake, just round the corner of the lane. He had run away from home after his mother chided him about having finished even the last cake in the confectionery box meant for the guests coming by for dinner.