Steven sat with the blocks in front of him. He knew what he was going to build. He could see the castle in his mind. It would be his greatest creation.
He started with a strong foundation. He settled on a color scheme. He whispered softly to himself as his prosthetic hand knocked a piece...almost. The castle grew and Steven grew with it. At last it was done. He ran to get Ms. Jensen. She had to see. Then she would believe. She would tell his parents. He could do it.
They returned to a scattering of blocks. Ricky was grinning in the corner. He winked at Steven. Steven tried to get the words out, but they got twisted and caught on themselves, tripping over their toes.
Ms. Jensen sighed.
"That is a beautiful castle, Steven! Good work!"
She returned to her desk and drank a sip of water. Ricky glowed inside, ripe with triumph. Steven was miles deep, always deeper, into a part of himself that was half-true. Half-beautiful. Or so it seemed.
Familiar feeling, different circumstances.ReplyDelete
Thanks for stopping by, Yvonne.ReplyDelete
Dan,I've gone round on this several times. Steven and Ricky and Ms.Jensen. So sad and yet, for me, there is also(as Garp would have said) an 'under toad' of something that is just about to surface and get scary. Not to get too carried away on a theme, but Canadian artist Christopher Pratt? His paintings are like that. There is something eery about the clean sparse geometry of his work that makes it unsettling. What is hidden just below the calm? Anyways, that's how it landed on me. (sorry to go off on a tangent)ReplyDelete
Why would you apologize for going off on a tangent? That was awesome, thanks!Delete