The Nameless Boy

Danny was a little boy, about 9 or 10.  He wore socks with holes, ripped jeans, no shoes, and a black felt hat several sizes too large.  Although he knew his own name, it served no purpose.  No one called him with it, no one knew him by it, no one learned it because no one ever met him.  The boy had no family and couldn't remember ever having one, only millions of busy, empty Colorado? Los Angeles? streets.  The boy lived off of scraps he found in dumpsters.  He never stayed still, only silently wandered among the people.  Maybe this is why no one recognized him, despite the eye-catching felt hat.  Or maybe it was just that nobody wanted to recognize him.  Everyone was too busy to notice a poor, lonely kid stuck out in the cold, month after month, year after year.  He wasn't one of those children that sat on a street corner with a hat upside down beside them waiting for pocket change to fall in, and trying to look as pitiful as possible.  The boy always tried to look his best.  Every day when he woke up in whatever small, uninviting place he had been sleeping in, he would take off his socks and shake them out, and then brush off his hat, and then he would look for the nearest source of water to wash his face with.  But why he did this, who knew.  No one would see his face anyways, hidden below the protruding felt brim.  Nobody even looked at him.  He would continue to slip invisibly through crowds every day, rain or shine, cold or unbearably hot.1

One day, Danny was walking by an outdoor cafe when the wind blew his hat off.  He scuttled to get it before anything could happen to it, but before he could reached it, he saw it raise up off the ground, and onto the lap of an old man enjoying a coffee.  The old man stopped what he was doing and was looking around for the owner of this strange object.  The boy ran over and held one hand on the hat as if, without speaking, he was forcefully claiming it as his only property.  The old man's hands released, but for a moment the old and the young made eye contact.  Then the boy glanced at the ground, put the hat back on and scampered off.2

The old man could not forget about this little boy.  Such a small part of his day, yet it had marked his heart permanently.  All day he thought about that boy, and before his head hit the pillow that night, the old man had decided that he must find the little boy and help him.  The next day the old man woke up and got dressed, dug out his checkbook, and left to go shopping.  On the way he asked everyone he saw if they had seen this little boy in the large felt hat.  Nobody had.3

When he got to the shops, the old man started small.  He bought some sweets, a packet of hotdogs, and some Kraft dinner.  He continued going into stores, buying things he thought a little boy might enjoy, finishing up at the furniture store, where the old man bought a bed and a bedstand.4

After he had sent someone to deliver the items to his house, the old man head to the park and sat down on a bench.  His plan was to wait here, and eventually the boy would pass by.  But after a few hours, the old man's eyes drooped, and he fell asleep.5

A few hours later, the little boy in the felt hat passed by the old man.  Recognizing the shoes, he stopped and looked up.  For once, the little boy felt tired of walking, and sat down on the park bench beside the old man, and fell asleep.  When the little boy's head fell onto the old man's shoulder, it woke the old man up, and he was overjoyed to see the little boy sitting beside him.  He couldn't believe his luck.6

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When the boy and the man reached home, the little boy clinging onto the old man's hand, the old man showed the little boy all the beautiful things he had bought.  Then the old man poured a hot bath for the little boy, and the little boy handed the old man his felt hat.  The old man put the big felt hat in a cupboard, and then laid out some new clothes for the little boy.  After the little boy's bath, he crawled into bed and fell asleep with a peaceful smile on his face.8

Life went on for a few weeks, and the boy adjusted to his new life.  The old man finally lost his burning feeling of lonliness that had stayed with him for so many years.  Both had never been so happy as they were those short weeks.  And then something very unexpected happened.9

After breakfast one day, the old man gave the little boy some pocket money to go get himself a treat from the market.  The old man lit himself a cigar and read the morning paper.  The match he tossed into the wicker garbage can.  But the match relit, and within a few minutes, the kitchen was ableze.  The old man had dozed off reading the paper, and didn't wake up until the fire was beyond hope.  The man knew he wouldn't survive, the smoke was already giving his old lungs difficulty.  But there was one thing he knew he must do.  The man struggled his way to the cupboard.10

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The little boy wandered back slowly, idly wondering what all the smoke was coming from.  By the time he reached the house, it wasn't much more than a blazing frame.  There was nothing left.  No words could ever express the boy's sorrow.  Nothing made sense.  The boy didn't know what to do.  He turned to run, but tripped on something.  The black hat was sitting on the ground in front of him, as one final gift from the old man.  The boy put it slowly on his head, and pulled it down very low.  And then he wandered.  For the rest of his life, this boy would wander, looking for something he would never have again.  One day when the little boy had grown old himself, he crawled one final time into a dark corner, and died.12

And no one noticed.13