Playground Panic

When chaos collides with air

Imagine the crash. The conscious mind resurfacing, grasping, outrunning the clutches of Chlorpromazine. There’s a whining child sniveling only four steps from me. His t-shirt smeared with playground dirt and jellybean dribble. His eyes find mine and lock. Click. Somehow, I’m four again.

What if I break for the swings first? I can beat him there, you know. My legs are longer. Sometimes my agility rivals the agile, muscular Cheetah. Sometimes my legs are sunk in blocks of concrete. His mother utters a growled resistance, snatches…