Raw, naked love

The baby sat in the push chair, one hand holding his bare foot, the other on the bar that also held three plastics disks in blue, pink and green, which he ignored. He must have been around nine months. His face wore the innocence you see of children on Christmas cards.

The street was more or less deserted for it was Sunday night and the green grocer’s, fishmonger, jewellery shop and book store had been closed since noon. People in the apartments above the stores had their televisions on. Bits and pieces of the programs drifted down to the narrow sidewalk. No cars were driving by in the late summer evening light.

Three teenagers surrounded the baby and all four were engrossed in a game. The teens would take turns taking the pacifier out of the baby’s mouth and then put it back in. Each time the baby laughed opening his mouth to receive the gift. His face showed no doubt it would arrive and when it did he gave a few sucks only to let another hand swoop down and he would drop it and the routine would begin again.

The teenagers were all intrigued speaking in low soothing voices to the baby. They were part of a bond of enjoyment.

What I found delightful was that all three teens were boys, one with a tattoo, two with earrings, all dressed in jeans and T-shirts that showed muscles that did not hide tenderness nor did any act like they wanted to cover up their raw, naked love.