Two boys stood atop a small grassy slope, overlooking the illustrious bi-weekly 'Trade Fair' of Birkstead's youth. In truth, it was more of a mutually agreed-upon flea market than anything organized or official. It consisted of buyers and sellers, who sat or squatted on the grass while hawking their offers and desires alike.
"Two pink seashells, will sell for an apple!" shouted a girl.
"Buying all fishbones, selling beetles!" offered an odd-looking boy with beetles crawling all over him.
A familiar, different voice called out. "Will trade a hat for a fish hook!"
William's eyebrows shot up, his ensuing smile reaching his eyes.
That fish hook offer sounds promising, thought William, I'll see if he's still there in a tick.
He turned to Clayton, "What did ya' bring this time?"
"Not too much," he mumbled, rummaging in his pockets, "Take a look."
On Clayton's outstretched palm lay two buttons, one beige and the other cream, a clam, and a ball of purple yarn the size of a ping-pong ball. He shrugged.
"It isn't all that much, I'm not really lookin' fer' anything."
William, on the other hand, was drawn in by the dormant life form before him. He poked the clam tentatively.
"Issat' alive?"
A grin crossed Clayton's face, "You tell me."
After several more pokes, the clam had had enough of it. A swift, pink blur escaped through a gap in its mouth.
"AAH!" William's finger was snatched back with the rest of his flailing hand, "It lives!"
His finger had now been marked by that clam's bodily fluids, the sticky, slimy truth of it sending shivers up his spine.
"S'you can see, it's alive," teased Clayton.
Grumbling his grievances to the unanswering breeze, William wiped his moist finger on his pants and started down the grassy slope. Clayton followed suit, after stowing away his goods.
"William, hold yer feet!" called Clayton, "What did ya' bring?"
"Quite a haul, an' I won't be sharin' any of it!"
"Stingy geezer…"
"We're tha' same age!"
"Doesn' make ya' any less stingy!"
"Bah, let's jus' go find things we want!" barked William, storming off towards the voice that called for a fish hook.
"Bye Grandpa, see you later!" waved Clayton, chuckling words unheard by William.
The frowning William neared his potential customer, their hawking's volume rising above the rest.
"Buying a fish hook!" announced he, "Sellin' a hat for it!"
"Jack, I've got one for ya'," said William.
"Do ya' now?" inquired the chocolate-eyed boy, Jack, "Well lemme' see it first."
William dug into his makeshift pouch, holding eye contact with Jack. Slowly, dramatically, William revealed the requested merchandise. Jack's eyes widened, his breathing hitched in his throat.
"No way!" he snatched the fish hook from William's fingers, "How'd ya' get it straight?"
Eyes darting around frenziedly, Jack slid an arm around William's neck and pulled him close. Staring down the spectators, he shooed them off with his free hand till they were alone. He eyed William suspiciously, heaving with curiosity.
"Pray tell, William, how did ya' get it straight?" he asked, eyes twinkling with envious greed.
William held a finger to his lips, "Now that, is a trade secret."
Threatening to pop right out of his skull, Jack's windows to his soul grew with his frustration. His shaky hands fumbled with the sweat on his brow. Squirming in his shirt under the weight of curiosity, Jack's resolve crumbled.
He put both hands together and took a knee, "William, o' brother of mine, we've been friends a' while, haven't we?"
"Yes, yes we have," replied William, stifling his laughter, "Get up, don't be so queer."
"Nay, William!"
"Jack-"
"NAY!"
"Yer' bein' unreasonable-"
"See here, if ya' tell me tha' secret, I'll trade ya' the hat, AND a scarf!" proposed Jack, rummaging within the worn leather backpack that lay at his feet.
"A scarf?"
"Yeah, 'aven't you seen one before?" He asked, "
He revealed the promised hat, an ocean blue, wide-brimmed hat with a pitiful, crumpled feather atop it. Its original colour was likely the purest, most delicate shade of white, but its trials and tribulations had transformed it into a beaten-down, grimy grey.
In his other hand, was a forest green scarf of a length surpassing their heights. Patched up and threadbare, it was a sorry sight. William's eyes, however, were aglow with wonder and curiosity.
His hesitant hand wandered forth, stopping short of the scarf. "Th-thas' a scarf?"
"Aye, it was my dad's old scarf," shrugged Jack, "He's got a new one now, so he gave it ta' me."
"Why are ya' tradin' it away, then?"
"Cause it's summer, William!" scoffed Jack, "I don't need a scarf now."
"C-can I touch it?" ventured William.
"Sure!" grinned Jack, handing the scarf over, "But ya' better tell me tha' secret after!"
All words after his agreement went in one ear, and out the other. William's attention was tangled, thrashing in the folds and creases of the scarf. His fingertips explored the foreign, fuzzy landscape, embarking on quests their owner would never know of. Wordlessly, instinctively, he raised the scarf, cradling its softness against the tender flesh of his neck.
Rapture assaulted his senses.
An intense desire smouldered within William, to hold the fluffy scarf even closer. Though it was impossible to do so, he squished it closer onto his skin regardless. With this unforeseen level of softness in his grasp, he would be damned if he did not indulge himself in it.
"Th-this…" William began, "This is so COOL!"
Jack scratched his head, "It's meant ta' keep ya' warm, what're ya talkin' about?"
"Thas' not what I mean!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
Jack looped his arm around William's shoulders, and pulled him close. His intent obvious in his eyes.
His voice took a low, honeyed tone. "Ya' get ta' have that scarf, and the hat, if ya' tell me tha' secret to gettin' tha' fish hook straight."
Nodding with all the airs of a prepubescent businessboy, William knew it was time to close the deal.
William met Jack's gaze with the same intensity, and took a deep breath. "Right, I'll tell ya' the secret, but ya' better gimme' tha' goods first."
Jack's brows furrowed.
"Are ya' gonna run from me?" he growled, "Cause I know darned well I can't catcha'."
"No no Jack, I promise ya', I won't run," reasoned William, raising his open palms.
"How can I be sure?"
"No, how can I be sure that ya' won't hear my secret and make off with the goods?" countered William, "Goods are proof, an' words are air!"
Grumbling, Jack failed to refute William's impeccable reasoning.
"All right, I agree," said he, and the merchandise changed hands.
William cleared his throat with the utmost drama and volume, "So Jack, the secret is…"
Jack leaned closer, twisting his ear to William's mouth.
"...I found it."
Jack's jaw and arms hung slack, falling to his knees with his eyes now glossy.
William walked away with a new hat and scarf in tow, twirling the former on a fingertip.
"Thanks for the goods, Jack!" waved William, "Try not ta' get tricked next time!"
The victim of deception, Jack, slammed the soil beneath him with both fists. The warmth of his bubbling frustration raced up the veins of his neck, and his mouth screamed towards the blue sky above.
"WILLIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!"