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I was on public transport heading home after work when a boy and his grandmother boarded. They sat parallel to me, facing my way, so I had a good view of both of them, side on. The grandmother looked pleasant and ordinary, without the mother-cub protective aura and generally did not take much notice of her surroundings. The boy was about 10 or 11 years old, maturity giving its first mark to blessed childhood. Dark hair down to his shoulders. Slim and ever so slightly sun burned. Wearing FC Barcelona shorts; legs nothing to write home about. But curiously lovely hands. At first glance, he did not strike me as extremely good looking, but at second glance, I saw that he was in fact very beautiful. It was mainly in the eyes, the penetrating look he gave when we locked eyes. We exchanged some curious eye contact and I gave him the same discreet quarter-smile that I often give to strangers. This happened perhaps three times before I thought to myself: I can’t just keep looking over at this lad. It was too late for a wink and conversation was impossible; there was a sense of futility. Unable to escalate, I decided to cease glancing over at him. When my stop was approaching and the bus slowing, I got up and moved past him. I was pretty much towering over him and he craned his head to look up at me. A quick glance down, a last flash of eye-contact, a half-smile this time, and then I was off. Hoping to catch him again through the window to give him a little wave as the bus moved off, I kept an eye out for him but the vehicle went by in a blur. There is a beauty in boys that leaves me bereft after such encounters that literally makes me say: Oh God! All I could do was talk out loud to God about the experience, telling him the yearnings of my heart and admitting that I really do long for such a boy in my life, and please bring me one, that is, if it’s good for me and good for the boy. I regularly work with boys, but in a professional setting these feelings are contained even when the boys are very good looking. It’s in these other moments, when out-of-uniform as it were, that these wounding encounters happen. It’s not often, but certain boys have this effect on me. Thank you for reading. I had to let somebody know. |