the boy who whistles

I watched him every day we were there. He never saw me but I always saw him. In my head I called him the boy who whistles. And the boy who whistles made me smile by living up to his name. Every day he would walk to the water, whistling whatever was in his head, I never knew what it was. Sometimes his dog would tag along or he would go barefoot or he would wear a towel around his shoulders. But he always whistled. It was such a carefree and happy sound that it stuck with me.
I never spoke to him, he never spoke to me. He never saw me, or maybe he did. The girl with a notebook, maybe that’s who I was to him. But probably not.
The boy who whistles taught me a valuable lesson in life, and he taught it to me without words, without recognition, without meaning to. He taught it quietly so that it’s remembered loudly.

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It’s a true story, and I never forgot the boy who whistles. I hope I can impact another like he did me. In such a small, intriguing way. I have yet to write a fictional character based off him, I’m waiting for the right story.
x, abby