In third grade I threw Theo Adams off his swing. He soared; beautiful, more bird than boy, flailing limbs romancing gravity, more acquainted with the clouds than any other kid at Kennedy Elementary —His dad was a paraplegic from a stock car-racing accident many years ago, so I just hoped Theo’d be okay. He was really good at ding-dong-ditch, and ringing doorbells, rolling away wildly in a wheelchair didn’t sound as fun. The ground jealous; broken arm when he landed. Theo lost the desire to go on the swings after that, playing dodgeball instead. I think he races boats these days. I lost recess for a week.
Charles Harper Webb