Child Light

Posted on Apr 13 by SEASONS Magazine

 

 

Child Light

Santa Barbara, 1954

By Christopher Buckley

 

It was, of course, another life—the war just over, many of us barely out

of bassinets. The sky peeled away layer by layer, the grey air pausing

between those days and whatever was going come. I looked up

to clouds, white as napkins, in the high windows of the five and dime and

department stores. . . .

In the back of the Pontiac, I was learning the names

for things, my father driving the wide lanes of State Street, or along the seafront on Cabrillo Boulevard where I knew every palm tree ascending the blue.

I sat in the Fox Arlington theater, my eyes adjusting to the dark, the

appliqué of stars blinking in the artificial vault above, below which

I’d spend the next 10 years happily watching WWII movies save us

time and again. . . . I went to Copenhagen with Hans Christian Anderson,

and one day walked underwater with Captain Nemo, a gold light glowing

from the globed eye-like windows of his fish-shaped boat . . . I was 6 that Saturday kids were admitted free to Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea to promote the future, and the Nautilus, our first nuclear submarine. . . .

 

60 years later, I walk the same sidewalks in a future I could never have

foreseen . . . all the way back there it keeps getting darker, except for

these small whitecaps of light surfacing as I walk by remembering

what shops were originally behind which doors . . . and sometimes

on the upper reaches of State Street, where tourists have not thronged,

out of the corner of my eye, I see, in the great glass store fronts of what once were Lou Rose or I. Magnin’s, a woman with auburn hair, wearing her one winter coat, leading a boy out of the shop—the air clear, crisp at his cheeks, the mica in the sidewalks shining back up to the midday sky as he raises a hand to shade his eyes so he can get some idea of where he’s

going. . . .

 

Originally published in the Spring 2017 issue of Santa Barbara Seasons Magazine.

 

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