Monday 10 April 2006                                                                                                                                                  South London

It was snowing. 

A small boy, eight years of age, looks up at the sky in solemnity, before sticking his pink tongue out to catch a snowflake on its tip. The snowflakes melts into his dark hair and catch onto his eyelashes, the sharp cold air making his cheeks red. 

"Dong!" A voice calls out and the boy's older brother waves at him from the other side of the park playground. "Some kid got the football stuck in the tree over there! I'm going to help them get it out and then we're going, okay?"

"'Kay!" The boy calls out, looking back down at the pile of snow he's sculpted. He blows on his hands to warm them up, shivering in the increasing cold. A shadow appears behind him and the boy looks over his shoulder to see the silhouette of another boy his age. 

"Are you trying to make a snowman?" The other boy says, sitting down on the wet snow next to him. He starts scooping snow up into his hands and sculpting it into a round-shaped ball.        "My name's Isiah. What's your name?" He squints at the boy's snow pile, frowning at what he sees as he waits for an answer. It doesn't come. "You're doing it all wrong. You need to make a ball for the snowman's bum and one for his head."

The boy pressed his lips together. "My way of making a snowman is special." He says, taking the snow from his new acquaintance and patting it back into the cone-shaped pile of snow in front of him. 

"Well, my way's better!" Isiah steals some snow off his snow pile and remakes his snowball. "It looks better and it's much neater!"

The boy watches carefully as Isiah molds two balls out of snow, his dark eyebrows bent into a concentrated frown. He quietly admires Isiah's long eyelashes and notices a dimple on his left cheek whenever he pulls a face. Short braids of curly black hair frame his face, decorated with small wooden beads and he inspects the intricate work with his eyes. He reaches out and flicks one of them, causing Isiah to stop and look at him. 

"You have nice hair." Is all he can say. Isiah nods in gratitude, before grabbing his complimenter's hands and guiding them into making a small snowman. His hands are warm. And soft. He thinks as Isiah shows him how to make a snowman. The pair grins as he accidentally knocks the head off the snowman, with Isiah breaking out into a long laugh. "You're a clumsy monkey!"

His cheeks turn even redder from embarassment as he swiftly replaces the snowman's head, his fingers numb from the frozen water. He mutters quietly,"Hmm. Cold.".

Isiah pulls off his gloves and holds them out to him. "Here. Take them." He says bluntly. The boy looks at him with wide eyes.

"But...they're yours!" He exclaims. Isiah shakes his head, holding them out him. 

"You need it more than me." He nods his head in gratitude, quietly putting his newfound friend's gloves on. He nods again. "Thank you."

"It's okay." Isiah smiles. "What's your name? You never said."

Social anxiety kicks in out of nowhere. The boy's whole being breaks into a state of pure panic and he clumsly stands up and starts running as far away as possible, leaving a confused and slightly startled Isiah sitting alone on the snow, his trousers soaked. He lets out a sigh, deciding to try and write his name down in the snow with his finger. He traces the straight line of the letter 'I' and swirls his finger around to make an 'S'. 

"Issa!" A female voice calls out and Isiah looks up to see his mother rushing towards him with a smile on her face. He holds up his arms and his mother picks him up under the arms, twirling him around in a circle. "Mama!" He calls out. 

"Where are your gloves, Issa?" She questions, inspecting his wet hands with concern. He smiles. 

"I gave them to this boy I was playing with! He didn't have any so I gave him mine!" He grins with pride as his mother's face breaks into a smile of approval. 

"Oh! That's okay then, as long as you did a good deed today, God will be..." Isiah finishes the sentence. 

"Happy!" He exclaims and his mother nods. "That's right! And it will make your mummies happy too, won't it!" She hugs him again and looks at the 'I' and 'S' in the snow. 

"I was trying to write out my name, mummy!" Isiah squirms out of her grasp and bends down to write another letter. "Hold on, Issa. We have to go now. Mummy's got chicken nuggets waiting for us both at home for dinner, okay?" 

"Okay! But I want to finish writing my name down so the boy know's my name when he comes back!"

"Mummy will do it, okay honey? Run to the gate and I'll meet you there okay?" She crouches down and writes out letters in the snow as her son runs off to the gate. 

I S S A

Five minutes later, the scarf-swaddled boy came back to nothing but a crooked snowman and a word written in the snow. "Oh. What about his gloves?" He says, walking over to the writing. 

"Eye-sah!" He stuggles, reading the words. "Eye-sah! Eye-sah!" He dances around. "Eye-sah!"

"Dong!" His brother comes back with several bloody cuts on his hands and knees and ripped jeans and starts dragging him towards the playground exit. He mutters something about falling from a tree under his breath as he pushes the gate open. 

"Jun! Where are we going?" The boy asks his older brother, but with no reply. He looks back over his shoulder to the writing between the tree, thinking of his reply to Isiah's question. 

Ki. 

My name is Ki.