Words
Words We're walking together, but not together. One word can change that. "Hi." "Hi," he responds. His voice is deep, and it surprises me. I have a sentence in my head... Usually fear would reel it back in to the depths of my tensed stomach. But this morning I rode my bike and I was fast fast fast and stop signs blurred red. The words drip like cool slimy sweat from my lips. "Do you remember kindergarten?" I ask. "Um, we were in the same class?" He asks back. But I know he sees me taunting him on the playground, our short little legs running through wet grass. I want to go back and crush those words down my little throat and dry his silly tears. Yesterday he said something funny in class, though, and he looked at me. I don't think I'm blind. But I am lonely. "You don't remember?" I hesitate, and then pull the youthful mocking singsong thread reluctantly from the hem of time, ...