The little moppet down the street who thinks her bike, training wheels and all, is the greatest thing since sliced bread? She’s right. And if she’s wiser than I, when she reaches my age she will remember that.
From across the deck, the culprit looked up to see the three of us making figure-eights at each other.
There was a point, maybe around age seventeen, when I believed myself to have become a grownup. It was a tragedy. I just wasn’t going to catch that giddy sensation in my throat anymore by hiding under tables and boring into rug patterns. Everybody mourned the loss of wonder, and maybe some people dabbled with drugs because being high meant seeing light years in dashes, and an old wizard in a rock.
It was through the eyes of others that I saw wonder hadn’t deserted me. Any time I walked beside a guy, whether on a hiking path or city street, they took delight in, or showed annoyance at, the number of times I stopped to lean…
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