The summer I turned five… in the park with my grandfather, walking…

He held a bag of bread crumbs in one hand, mine in the other. His hands (which so long ago held rifles in the army) were hard, calloused and gentle. He smiled at me and his bristly moustache wrinkled his face. We were going to feed the ducks.

The sun shone down on my tiny arms as dragonflies danced and skirted over the warm, fluffy grass. The water in the lake sparkled, fluttering lazily. Under the swaying willow branches, my grandfather and I agreed it was a beautiful day.

Soon the ducks were upon us –– more than I could count –– and hungry! With a great honking and flapping and stomping around, they clamored to eat my bread. I thought then that they loved me, just as I loved each and every one of them. I tried to ensure no duck was left out, but before every mouth was fed, the bread ran out. I felt like crying. The ducks were disappointed and surely starving to death.

“There isn’t enough bread!” I said, close to tears.

“Well,” my grandfather paused for a long time. “That’s just it. There never is.”

“You should have brought more!”

“Ah! You think?” my grandfather knelt down beside me “Maybe you’re right.” I glared at him and he gave me a look. “You think they’re still hungry?” he asked. I nodded.

“I know what they can eat!” he declared suddenly.

“What? What?”

He smiled.

“They can eat… You!”

He made to grab me –– but I was too fast! I slipped through his hands and ran away across the grass. I was laughing so hard that I did not pay attention to where I was going, and soon I was on the other side of the park. My grandfather was nowhere in sight. With grief and hopelessness, I sat down on the grass and began pulling it up in bunches.

“You’re hurting the grass,” a deep voice said behind me. I whirled around and saw a tattooed man standing beside me. He was smoking a cigarette. “It’s got feelings too, you know?”

I informed him that he was being silly.

“You think? That grass has been growing its whole life sitting next to its friends. Now you’re just pulling it out! I think you are being silly.”

I stopped pulling up the grass.

“How old are you kid?” the man asked.

“Almost five.”

“Damn.” He sat next me and didn’t say anything for a while. “I used to be five too, you know. How old do you think I am?”

Before I could say that I didn’t know, he interrupted me.

“Sorry kid, I gotta go, my PO’s waiting over there.” He extinguished his cigarette. “So long.”

I stayed in the grass for a while longer, watching a stray blue balloon float away into the sky. My grandfather found me and held my hand as we walked home.