Mysterious Statue of a Boy in the Park


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As soon as I entered the park, I went looking for the statue of the little boy that I remembered so well from last summer. I knew it was on the south side of the park, but I was not sure exactly where. As soon as I began my quest, I could faintly smell roses, a smell so familiar from the endless warm summer days that Jordan and I would spend next to the rose garden, in front of the statue. I knew I was getting close. Next, I saw the roses in the distance from where I was, walking towards the stairs that lead to the rose garden. I remembered walking in the same general direction. I was closer.

Then I got to the stairs. As I was walking down the steps I looked to my right. There was a statue of a beautiful woman, not the right statue. Finally, I looked to my left, and there it was. My heart skipped a beat. I could remember the very first time I saw that statue. It was a hot day in mid-July when Jordan and I first stumbled upon it. Last summer while I was living in the dorms, Jordan was my best friend; we spent every waking moment together. One day we decided to walk in the park, we got to the rose garden and were talking about the roses until we saw the little boy. We were both so amazed by the statue, yet we could not figure out why. Starting from that moment, we spent a great amount of time at the statue last summer. As I walked up to it, I could almost see Jordan standing next to the statue turning to say something about it to me that we had not noticed before, but that was last summer. Like I said, Jordan was a very close friend of mine, but when I moved back to Michigan last year, we grew apart. Standing by the statue I could remember sitting next to it for hours just talking, and looking at the statue with him.

The first thing I did was get up very close to the statue and examine it once again. It is of a boy who is between the ages of twelve and fifteen, he is mostly naked, covered only with a cloth hanging by a thin belt over his genitals.

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It is so discrete that a child would not giggle, or an adolescent girl would not think of the boy as being "hot," in fact, most people do not give it a second glance. Now that I was closer, I could smell old metal. It gave me a rusty antique feeling. I could also smell stale dirty water, like the water had not been changed since last summer, when Jordan and I first discovered the statue. The sweet smell of roses was faint in the distance. The hair of the boy was rumpled and tousled. The statue had waterspouts circling around it. I could hear the water splashing against the hard, copper body, and then trickling down his arms and chest. The body was green from age and the water that constantly hits it. The rumpled hair, a lighter shade of green, gave it some character. Next, I noticed his face which looked as soft as one of the rose petals in the garden to my left. His eyes are set very deep, like two marbles sinking in wet sand. His high cheekbones added a mysterious character, and his sly smile enhanced his cheekbones even more. I have often wondered what was lurking behind that grin.

Next, I noticed my favorite part of the statue, his outstretched arm. I always imagined that he was dancing, dancing with a childhood sweetheart, waiting for her to grab his hand and twirl her into his grasp. However, when you look further down, you believe that may not be true. The grin probably represents some sort of conquest, and he delicately outstretches his hand for balance. You see he is standing very proudly. Perhaps this is because he has caught a tortoise, which one foot is resting on while water pours from the poor reptile’s lips. The tortoise seems to be in the midst of being crushed by the weight of the young boy, the beautiful shell being the only savior. The statue looks so poised. His shoulders are straight, his chest boldly thrusts forward, and his two bottom ribs are visible sticking out of his thin, lanky, boyish frame.

I found a spot in the shade, and sat down on my jacket, which I had spread out on the grass. For quite some time I simply stared at the boy, almost as if I were waiting for him to move. I noticed that when the sun shone, it reflected off the wet body, and every once in a while I could see the slight reflection of a cloud. The sun reflected brightest off of the boys cheekbones, which made him look extremely happy. It was not until this point that I realized the boy was leaning on something. I got back up and carefully walked all around the boy. Curiously, I looked at what I had missed. It was apparent now that he was leaning on a dead tree stump surrounded by cattails. I thought to myself, "Maybe the boy had been walking through a desolate swampy area when he stepped on a tortoise and almost fell."

This particular statue had no plaque naming who had done the beautiful work, or describing what the boy had been doing. Maybe that is half of the reason I like it. There is always room for another story about what the boy is doing, where he is, or who is waiting for. It will always be a mystery, but I will always have a story to tell.

By the time I looked at my watch, it was getting close to three thirty. I did not want to have to leave, but I knew that I would have to leave soon to go to work. I left the park happy that day. I was happy with pleasant old memories, and happy with new memories. I am not quite sure if I want to find out what the boy was actually doing, and I am not sure that I ever will, but I will try. Forever when I see the statue of that beautiful, I will be overwhelmed with pleasant thoughts.


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