A Storyish Something
We sat back to back. You leaned on me more than I thought I would have preferred, but just as much as I liked-enough that I was supporting you and enough so that I didn't have to, though I didn't want not to, at least not then. Back then this didn't mean all that much-we weren't quite as old as were are now, but maybe we acted a little older. It's hard to say if what comes with age is better than what we lose-our loss was greater, but I wonder if that is just because it's gone.
A gravelly slip and a gasp-the noise of which was more than the effect (an out of place shingle and a couple outofbreath kids). After a breath to know I was breathing and one to know where I was, a breath-a sigh of another, you. Relief and disappointment (of the type I've always felt guilty for having because something horrible wouldn't really be better, but no action always seems a let down)-and the breathing of those who didn't know if they had any breath slowly became the breathing of those who no longer remember its importance.
I thought about what didn't just happen and what couldn't have just happened-could you call nineoneone for broken bones, would they get angry? What if the fall was farther than the distance from where we were to the ground-the noteventhere sidewalk where parts of you sprayed the pavement with the finality of what could never be-and what was that, what would be gone, what could still be after all.
Your weight shifted slightly, now more left than right. The actual you once again more than the couldn'thavebeen you. I said you gave me a scare and you said that cloud looks like giraffe.