He Has A Beard

It was late afternoon and the sun burned hot like it would never shine again, the sky slowly starting to turn red with the sunset. I picked up my pace, running past houses until I got to the garden park.

A few children played on the swing and seesaw while their parents watched them. I scanned the place, my eyes darting left and right until a boy ran past me. He stopped for a moment and turned to look at me.

I gazed at my phone screen, the image of a Google map visible with a red dot blinking at the centre of it. Where was he? I thought to myself, worry creasing my brows.

“Are you looking for someone?” The boy, about ten years old, asked, his curious gaze searching my face.

I nodded. “Yes. Actually my brother…about an inch taller than me.”

“Yeah,” the boy smiled, “he looks like you but he has a beard. You don't.” He rubbed his chin indicating the location of the beard.

“Do you know where I might find him?” I asked as kindly as I could while praying my grps was correct.

He pointed to the pond behind us. “We talked for a long time and he told me stories of his childhood. How he and his friends used to climb trees near the school fence and race each other home.”

I smiled, my shoulder sagging in relief. That was definitely my elder brother who suffered temporary amnesia after a car accident. He somehow left the hospital without anyone's notice and I tracked him to the park.

“That sounds like him.”

“He showed me a picture of you from his wallet. He said it was his little brother and wondered what kind of man he'd grow up to be. You are grown up, right?”

I chuckled at the boy's question. “Yes, I'm an adult now. Can you show me which way he went?”

“Come,” he held my hand and pulled me. “He’s watching the ducks at the pond.”

My brother sat alone on a bench watching the ducks glide across the water as the boy had said. From a distance he seemed ordinary enough but I noticed his beard had a few strands of gray. Yet the smile on his face belonged to a carefree school boy waiting for summer holidays to begin.

“Thank you,” I whispered to the boy who smiled and ran off to play. As I approached the bench, my brother looked up and smiled, waving.

“Hey,” he called. “You look just like my little brother.”

“I am your little brother,” I whispered, sitting beside him. His smile lingered, his gaze uncertain as though he was fighting through the fog in his mind to find us.

I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "he has a beard".

Thank you for visiting my blog.

^{_{Image created by AI using NightCafe Studio}}