standing at the head of the concrete stairs, we look down at the lonely playground. he fidgets, running a finger in the tender skin beneath his eye. i can see the desire churning inside him before he even speaks.
we can go down. i say.
yellow white teach catch the sun and he does a little dance, as we make our way around the apartment building on an easier descent. two teens pause briefly in their exchange, between the cars, to watch us. i am lint on a coat, in this neighborhood.
barely containing himself, he bounces and jiggles, until we arrive and the fun begins. he points at what he wants to do, this cripple wheel chaired boy, and i do it.
hang upside down...and i do.
slide...and i do.
swing...and i do, and with each pull to bring me higher, he sways, feeling the breeze on his face as if it is he...
go round and round on the merry-go-round...no, why don't you.
he looks at me in confusion and disbelief and freedom rings in the pop of the clasp of the belt that holds him into that seat. sliding him in place, i get behind and hold him in...and push...and push...until our worlds spin...and he does not need legs...or more than one arm...to fly.
i cry, blaming the wind, while he smiles wide, on a day neither of us will soon forget.
not even those gang bangers that watch us still.
because we touched heaven today.
written for Imperfect Prose
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