Not My Choice (to make or judge)

Four children ran up to the fountain in the town square. A little barefoot girl in a two-piece bathing suit stretched out on her stomach on the stone rim and dangled her hands in the water. The smallest of the three boys snatched a quarter and held it aloft triumphantly. “I found a quarter,” he exclaimed. “Good, now throw it back and make a wish when you do,” said his father, a thin man who looked like a cross between Mick Jagger and the farmer from American Gothic. The little girl started to step into the fountain. “Do not go in,” said her mother as she walked up to the fountain carrying her infant son. The little girl smiled and satisfied herself with swishing her arms back-and-forth in the water. The mother was wearing a black, short sleeved, cotton dress. She stood on strong legs, carrying some leftover baby weight along with her infant son. The little boy who threw the quarter ran around to the other side of the fountain raising both arms in the air and said, “I wish for cupcakes!” His mother laughed and said, “How can you have room for cupcakes after all that frozen yogurt?” Three more children, older than the others, crossed the street to join the rest of the family. The mother’s simple but stylish, dangling black earrings caught the sun as she turned to greet the rest of her children with a smile. Then all the children began to walk like ducklings towards the SUV parked at the curb just beyond the edge of the square. The father led the way carrying his infant son. He walked proudly as if to say, “That’s right, they’re all mine.” I noticed how well-behaved and happy all the children seemed to be. When no one was looking the little boy who had wished for cupcakes scooped a quarter out of the fountain, squeezed it gleefully in his fist and flashed a huge grin at me as he pocketed it and then ran to catch up with his family.

Cinse Bonino

2022