Boy King
He reminded me of a benevolent boy king.
Slight jutting of the chin. An almost imperceptible swagger. Wore collared sweaters in country club colors, but you could imagine him with a fur mantel and scepter. Pink cheeks with the baby fat still on them, and blonde hair he styled with a little too much care.
Always smiling, always lingering through our conversations as if assured of the next delightful thing I would say. As if assured of his own delightfulness. And you just knew he'd been hearing it all his life. The kind of kid the other mothers would gush over. Such a thoughtful boy. And he was.
Came to my desk one day looking for chocolate, strolling up with that self-assured grin. I knew I didn't have any, but I made a performance of opening my secret treat drawer, just to see his face when he learned I had a secret treat drawer. He'd never had dried mango, so I tore off a slice and handed it to him. "Just like being in the Thai jungle," I said, watching his eyes go wide with pleasure. For weeks afterward he would bring in new snacks for us both to try. Dried, spiced peas. Banana chips. We'd chew slowly, watching one another's reaction, then declare our verdicts. If I liked whatever it was, he'd insist I keep the bag.
On his last day, he personally returned his key to me--the only one so far to do that. He sat behind my desk with me and we stepped carefully through the trap of saying a professional goodbye when what you really want to say is Thank you for this small friendship or Our chats were a bright spot in my day. And though he'd left his position willingly for another job, I found myself assuring him of his very bright future, like a great, wise, dried fruit-dispensing guidance counselor.
Always that smile. Just once I would have liked to see him without it, seen a glimpse of whatever was heavy or painful underneath. Possibly nothing. I hope nothing.