Writer's Wednesday || Part 3 - The Park

Happy Wednesday after St. Patrick's Day! Y'all do anything for the holiday? I forgot it was St. Patrick's day until it was already half way over, forgot to wish anyone a happy one, and didn't dress in green, so I basically failed at it this year...
Anyways. Here's the next installment of This Name and Moment.

- Part 3 -

The Park

America 1952 and they still hadn't switched the park lamps from candles to bulbs.

The lamplighter brought the tall iron posts to life every night at exactly 7:15, with his long pole with the flickering flame on the end. April would watch him from the security of the trees until all the lampposts were lit and he went whistling on his way. The scene was always so peaceful, so surreal, she was afraid to shatter it like glass.

Every dusk, at 7:15, she would come and watch the lamplighter, then go and sit on the bench in the middle of the gravel path, by the water fountain, once he was gone.

The scene never changed. The lamplighter always worked from right to left. The flame on the end of his pole never went out, not even on the windy winter days. And he never missed a night. And there was never another lamplighter.

Until tonight.

April arrived at her usual spot behind the alder tree, peering out to watch the lighter-man. But it wasn't him this time. It was someone new. Someone young. Just about her age, it looked like.

Of all the nights for things to change, why must it be this one? She glanced at her watch. It was almost time.

April opened and closed her mouth, wanting badly to ask this new, young lamplighter where old Mr. Bryant was, yet before she could make up her mind, the new lighter-boy spoke to her.

"You must be the girl Grandpa told me about. Said you watched him every night from behind that tree since you had legs to walk on." The lighter-boy lowered his pole from lighting a post, turning to smile at her.

"What's your name? He never could figure it out."

April gulped, stepping out from her hiding place and into the circle of candlelight on the grass. The boy was tall and dark haired. His eyes were very green.

"Your grandfather?"

"William Bryant."

"What's happened to him? Why isn't he here?"

The boy cocked his head at her, grinning infectiously, "You sound disappointed." His grin vanished, "Truth is, my Grandpa passed away. Last night, right after he got home from lightin'."

April lowered her eyes, "Oh… I'm so sorry."

The boy shrugged, "He was a good grandfather. Died finishing one of his favorite things in life."

"So… You're the new lamplighter?"

The boy's smile was back, "Dylan Bryant, at your service."

April's heart thudded as she suddenly remembered the time. She blinked at her watch.

7:18 p.m., July 17, 1952.

The Moment was here.

April never knew why this time and date had always been in her head, or why she didn't just forget them, or why she knew that they were important. She just did. And now that the Moment was finally here…

"What's your name?" asked Dylan.

April tore her gaze away from her watch, "April. April Portlynn."

The lighter-boy's face slackened, his green eyes widening.

"April," he swallowed, "Portlynn?"

"Yes," she frowned. "Is something wrong?"

The boy bit his lip, looking around the darkened park as if for an escape or an answer, "I've just… heard that name before."

"Really? Where?" April tried to look nonchalant, when really her heart was hammering like a drum. She dug her hands into her dress pockets, hoping Dylan wouldn't notice the sweat building on her skin. Why was this moment so important that she had known it, remembered it, since her earliest memories?

"Nowhere, nowhere," said Dylan quickly. "Just… around."

"Well," April began slowly backing down the path. She smiled, "It was nice to meet you, Dylan. I'm sure you'll do your grandfather proud as a lamplighter."

Dylan nodded, "Thanks."

April turned and started down the path. She had only taken a few steps, when Dylan called out, "Wait! Sorry, wait."

She twisted back to look at him, "Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?" He must have taken her silence as an answer, because he continued, "Why did you come here every night to watch my grandfather?"

April breathed in the night air, casting a happy glance around the park and the brick walkways and the grassy fields below thick alder and ash trees, "I don't know. It's just… like something inside me told me to. Like it was important."

Dylan cocked his head again, giving her another infectious grin, coupled with a questioning expression. She smiled back, "Goodnight, Dylan… See you around."

Mysteriously, 

~The Scribbler in the Attic