The Narrow Escape

© Beth Roberts

During the station break, a memory straddles a few lengths of space-time and jeers. I try the picture: an extreme blonde five (splayed hand), I covered the eight blocks from school-home in self preservation, the route a hydrant, the living room a glued-up bone china reindeer. Focus in: once a wide car sidled up close, leaned over and said it knew my folks and I'd have a ride home. There was candy involved. I watched the smile and wondered what kind. As the smile opened slow and wide, inward flew a raggy bird and its piece of sky, a million trillium, cough against the forest floor, spinning leaf, a rodeo, television mirrored in a picture window, an expanse of ice, a voice. I guess it was no, since I walked faster in time to no, no, no, no and overcame the hydrant as he pulled away, sighing. I should have liked to review him as plucked off by the rush, but it was a small town. Very small on its hill in the sky blue sky.