Since I can't seem to steer away from morbid stories, I instead write terribly sad ones that are lame by the same token. I will say that I plagerized the idea for writing about the mentally handicapped from Josephine, but butchered it horribly. If it weren't for the no rewrites rule, I would definitely rewrite this.
The music played on; the gentle tinkling of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" filling the room once again. It was already an hour past Johnny's bedtime but his mom and dad didn't seem to notice. Johnny had been so enthralled by the tiny music box and its familiar melody, turning the key repeatedly with his clumsy oversized fingers. It would have been a shame for anyone to deny him this treasure over as trivial a concern as bedtime. Mom and Dad simply sat and smiled gently at their now fifteen-year-old son.
It had been hard on them when she'd given birth to a boy with Down syndrome. Little Johnny had needed perpetual care; it couldn't be helped. At the age when most kids were able to bathe themselves and were heading off to kindergarten, Johnny sat and gurgled in the shower while his mother carefully scrubbed him with a washcloth. It would be two more years before he could be enrolled in kindergarten.
Now, on his fifteenth birthday, Johnny had finally made it into third grade. For the double celebration, Mom and Dad had bought him a music box. They watched his face break out into that familiar flattened, lopsided grin when he discovered how he could make it play beautiful music. The excitement never left his face, even with each repeated playing, long into the night.
* * *
Johnny stepped off the bus and shivered in the light drizzle. He was back from work again. The music box was threaded securely on a strong chain around his neck. Mr Warner wouldn't let him play it while he stacked the boxes but he dutifully turned the little silver key whenever he was off his shift. It helped him feel at peace with the cold world. His was world of staring eyes and overly kind but sadly distant people. Now that his parents had passed on, no one would talk to him; but for staring and quickly looking away. But when the tiny tinny music filled the air, he had a friend who talked and who understood.
He had left his house key at work again. Johnny sat quietly on the curb and waited for his roommates. They wouldn't be here for another hour and for that time, Johnny would be alone. The simple notes of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" faded into the evening as he sat in the rain.
Currently grooving to: Oasis - Don't Look Back in Anger