Nathaniel Leon
January 18, 2009 6:51 PM
Flutterby butterflies by Nathaniel Leon
The flute at the fingertips of Nathaniel Leon might remind some people of the boy. It obviously came from the same household as he did, the small splatters of paint dotting up the sides. Scratched up, yet somehow gleaming where the sun hit it, the flute Nathaniel Leon carried was at his lips, catching the sun a couple times over as he played a simple melody, a very easy melody that he did not have to stretch his long fingers for much. A few notes repeated a dozen times, the small flourish of his head bobbing with the music. The missteps where he did not cover the hole all the way, or pressed in the middle, at which point Nathaniel would stop, pout, push his longish brown hair over his shoulder and start all over again.He wasn’t bored, he was simply happy with sitting around and practicing his playing. Nathaniel Leon was rarely ever bored. The jovial boy could find a plethora of things to amuse himself with, it really wasn’t all that hard. He never knew why people his age were bored so often, whenever his friends came over there was always that excuse that he never quite understood. Always something to do, walking, music, making up some silly dance, painting some abstract picture, reading, playing with the animals (how Nathaniel loved his nanners), trying on clothes, the point was there was always something. That something right now just happened to be sitting around, playing the ditties on the flute he took from home.
The flute was the replacement for the pygmy puff. The little thing played at home with Lucy now, his toddling sister seeming very fond of the pink puff. When she got old enough, she could name it, they would grow up together so she would have every right to. But… Nathaniel did want something to bring back from Midterm, something fun (other than the purple jeans and yellow jacket he wore now), something small. Here was the flute.
It occupied the boy’s time in Arizona, he waited for something else to come along that would end up more fun than hearing the twinkling music he played. Shiny eyed, the lanky boy kicked his feet from the bench, swaying his head as he played, the same few, simple notes again. His mind making up lyrics to go along with it. His lyrics lacked in sense, and he thought of them with the notes. The. Flutt. Er. Bies. Are. So. Pret. Ty. Ag. Ainst. The. Win. Ter. Snow. And. They. Sing. La. La. La. And. Ag. Agin. He stopped the flute to try those words out. Slowly, on the same tune. “The flutt-er-bies are so pret-ty ag-ainst the win-ter snow,” one syllable at a time. “And they sing la, la, la…” He grinned, yes, that was nice.
Placing the flute back to his lips, he continued to play, the happy blue eyes flicking to whomever had just appeared to the side. He wasn’t ignoring them though, he was allowing them the chance to ignore him if they so wished. If they wanted to talk? Well, Nathaniel was a talker too.
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Nathaniel Leon
Flutterby butterflies
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