The Youngster and His Crowd

He’d found his audience. But could he keep it?

Once upon a time, near a town not far from here, the Youngster played alone. The boy lived in a large mansion with seven older brothers and seven older sisters. Being older and cruel, his siblings claimed the best rooms for themselves — to the Youngster, they left only the attic.

It was cramped, to say the least.

On weekends, when the weather was mellow and sweet, the Youngster picked daisies in the courtyard. He asked them, “Will you be my friend?” Then he laid on his back and counted clouds, and fingered his roughspun tunic.

When his brothers passed, they swished their fashionable cloaks and said, “Go away, Youngster. You’re not stylish enough to play with us. Come back when you are stylish.”

When his sisters passed, they jingled their coin purses and said, “Come now, Youngster. You’re not rich enough to play with us. Come back when you are richer.”

The Youngster grew weary of their taunts. Maybe someone in town will play with me, he thought.

One dark night, the Youngster crept from his bedroom and slipped downstairs.

First, he tip-toed into the dressing room, where his brothers slept. They snored and groaned, fast asleep. From the dressing room closet, he stole the smallest of his brother’s cloaks and donned it.

Next, he crawled into the lounge, where his sisters slept. They tossed and turned, fast asleep. From their lounge table, he took the smallest of his sister’s purses and attached it to his hip.

Quiet as a mouse, the Youngster slipped from the mansion.

The Youngster hummed and skipped along the road to town. His clothes swooshed in the wind. At his side, his coin purse jingled.

All across the road, youngsters peered at him from darkened houses. One by one, they crept from their homes, curious.

Who was that, in the swooshing cloak? What was that sound, that pleasant jingling?

When the Youngster skipped into town, he found the street was a’slither with a murmuring Crowd.

Curious, he drew closer.

“Who are you murmuring about?” the Youngster said, for everyone knew Crowds spoke only in rumors and gossip.

“Why, who else but YOU, of course!” said the Crowd.

The Youngster was astonished. “Me? I’m a Youngster. A Nobody.”

The Crowd laughed from its many throats. It laughed as if the Youngster had said the funniest thing in the world. It said, “Your cloak is stylish. You’re money-purse jingles. You’re a Somebody. Why wouldn’t I talk about you?”

The Youngster was pleased and swooshed his cloak. “Don’t bother talking,” he said. “Play with me!” And so saying, he shook his coin purse until it jingled.

The Crowd drew back, appalled.

“Play with you? I can’t play with you. You’re stylish, and I’m drab. You’re rich, and I’m just getting by. Let me follow you around instead.”

That’s no good at all! thought the Youngster. I don’t want a follower — I want friends to play with. He thought and he thought. Finally, he came up with an idea.

The Youngster said, “If I am stylish, then whatever I do is stylish, too.” And with that, he bent and smeared his face with mud. The Crowd oo’ed and aah’ed and smeared its face as well.

The Youngster said, “If my coin purse makes me rich, then I can do with my money whatever I please.” He handed the Crowd the two coins from his purse. The Crowd oo’ed and ahh’ed and jingled the coins by its ears.

The Youngster said, “Now you are stylish and rich like me. Let’s play!”

The Crowd cheered. It hoisted the Youngster onto its back and paraded him around town. He played until the sun rose and his Crowd draped over chimneys, fences, and light posts — fast asleep. Finally, the Youngster trudged back home, exhausted.

When he opened the door, his brothers and sisters sneered. “You stupid Youngster,” his brothers said. “You’ve dirtied our clothes! Now we will never play with you.”

“You silly Youngster,” his sisters said. “You’ve given away our coins! Now we will never play with you.”

The Youngster sneered back and said, “I don’t care. I have friends — I don’t need to play with YOU anymore.”

“Don’t come begging to us later,” his siblings said.

The next day, the Youngster skipped into town. Upon recognizing the Youngster, the crowd coiled onto the street.

“Hey there, Youngster,” the crowd said. “What are you doing in town?”

“I’m here to play, of course!”

“Play?” the Crowd said. “I can’t play with you. You’re stylish, and I’m drab. You’re rich, and I’m just getting by. Let me follow you instead.”

This again, the Youngster thought. He asked what had become of the Crowd’s coins.

“Oh,” said the Crowd. “Those old things. They’re old news. I spent them all on your parade.”

Well, I’ll not give up yet, the Youngster thought. He asked what had become of the Crowd’s fashionable mud.

“Mud masks are so yesterday,” said the Crowd. “I want to stay current.”

The Youngster looked at his torn, dirty clothes and his empty coin purse. He said, “What if I were unstylish and poor? Would you play with me then?”

“Of course!” the Crowd said. And so saying, it stripped the Youngster of his clothes and his coin purse.

The Youngster stood naked in the streets and smiled.

“Let’s play!” he said.

“With who?” said the Crowd.

“With me!”

The Crowd drew back, appalled. “Why would I play with you?” said the Crowd. “You have no clothes. You have no money. You’re a Nobody. Come back and play with me when you’re dressed and you have coins to spend.”

Dejected, the lonely Youngster returned to his mansion.

No matter how much he begged, neither his brothers nor sisters would play with him.

“We told you so,” they said.

Time passed. Each year, the Youngster stole a stylish cloak from his brothers and a jingling coin purse from his sisters. He’d skip into town, where his Crowd cheered and lifted him on its shoulders.

Many years passed. The Youngster’s requests to play grew more and more uncommon.

On his 99th birthday, he died.

The Crowd wept and hissed and lashed out in disappointment. It wound around his grave and murmured, murmured.

Who is this? Why are we here? Where are his friends? Who is this? Why are we here? Where are his friends? Who is this?

But the Youngster had no friends to answer the Crowd’s questions — only followers. Lost and confused, the Crowd slithered off, and the lonely Youngster was lonely no more.

The End.