Children Tobogganing, 1927
By William Kitcher
The author sees a photo of children on the toboggans. He realises later that they weren’t laughing toward the camera. They were laughing at it.
I’d stopped outside the optometrist’s store because the display in the window had nothing to do with glasses; there were vintage photographs of the city, and I like old photos. They’re wonderful records of how things used to be. Better than anything written, they’re actual evidence.
I was looking at a photo from 1927 in a nearby park. Children were sitting on toboggans at the top of the hill; they were turned toward the camera, and laughing, an innocent, universal, and singular moment in time.
​
A group of people approached on my left: five adults, three dogs, three teenagers, and, trailing slightly behind, a little boy who was about three. They were animated, talking, laughing. All three dogs wagged their tails enthusiastically.
I looked at the photo again, smiled, then turned to my right to watch the receding group. The little boy had stopped and watched a fire truck go past. The rest of the group continued down the street. One of the teenagers turned and I thought he looked at the little boy. Maybe he hadn’t. He turned away and followed the group.
The little boy looked around, then tottered back toward me. I looked both ways on the street. There was no one looking for a little boy.
As he came closer, I squatted in order not to frighten him. “Hey, buddy,” I said. “My name’s Bill. What’s yours?”
He was understandably a little skeptical and said nothing.
“Where are your mom and dad?”
“Home.”
“Shouldn’t you be home?”
He blubbered.
“We’ll find your mom and dad. Don’t worry. We’ll get you home.”
“I want Smoky.”
“Who’s Smoky?”
“He’s my cat.”
“I think Smoky misses you. We’ll find him.”
“I like Smoky.”
“He’s a good cat. What does he look like?” I said to keep him distracted as I continued to look up and down the street.
The little boy put his arms around my neck. “He’s fluffy. He doesn’t yell.” He paused for a moment, then said, “I know he loves me.”
I think he emphasized the word “he”.
I stood up with the boy in my arms. I looked both ways on the street again, hoping a cop car would pass.
The little boy meowed and laughed. “Smoky!”
I took my phone out, found the number for the police division in my neighbourhood, and called.
As I waited, a man ran toward me. “What are you doin’, ya pervert?!”
He punched me in the face and I dropped. I deliberately fell straight backwards so the little boy wouldn’t hit the ground and was cushioned from the fall by landing on top of me. I hit my head hard on the cement.
The guy tore the kid away from me. The kid looked at the man and seemed scared. And then, as I lay on the ground, the man kicked me and kicked me and kicked me.
It occurred to me that the man’s first reaction was to punch me instead of rescuing the boy.
One of the kicks caught me solidly on the back of my head. Before I passed out, I looked up at the photo of the children on the toboggans. They weren’t laughing toward the camera. They were laughing at it.
William Kitcher's stories, plays, and comedy sketches have been published, produced, and/or broadcast in Australia, Belgium, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Canada, Czechia, England, Germany, Guernsey, Holland, India, Ireland, Nigeria, Singapore, South Africa, the U.S., and Wales. His stories have appeared in Fiery Scribe Review, Ariel Chart, New Contrast, Spinozablue, Granfalloon, Eunoia Review, Defenestration, Yellow Mama, and many other journals. His comic noir novel, “Farewell And Goodbye, My Maltese Sleep”, the second funniest novel ever written, was published in October 2023 by Close To The Bone Publishing, and is available on Amazon.