Lemonlime
(?)Community Member
- Posted: Thu, 09 Aug 2012 07:35:45 +0000
Some kids have rain boots; he's seen them--bright like splatters of paint, crisper and closer than any rainbow he's ever seen, in blues and purples and greens and yellows. Lucien wishes he had rain boots, wishes his mother could afford them, that they could go tromping through leaves and mud together as he watched everyone watching him in his plastic boots, his rain boots. But that's okay, he can imagine.
For now, he'll just sit on the swing in his rain-drenched sneakers and soaked socks, in his sweater two sizes too big, and become one with puddles. Adults say things like that all the time, say "Become one with--" and tack on something weird and implausible. But that's okay too, because he really likes the implausible.
Lucien steps one foot up onto the seat of the swing, then the other, and grasps the rusty chains in his fists. Raindrops gather and cling to the woven knit of his sweater, a little gritty, a little grimy, and blotch his crumpled jeans. The rain running off his forehead catches on his eyebrows, then his eyelashes, then falls, and with the water squishing between his toes, who needs plastic? Who needs rain boots when you can have the rain?
Lucien closes his eyes and shakes his head, smiles, and that unusual artifice, become one with--, he feels it; he feels implausible. And maybe...
Maybe that's a pretty okay thing to be.
For now, he'll just sit on the swing in his rain-drenched sneakers and soaked socks, in his sweater two sizes too big, and become one with puddles. Adults say things like that all the time, say "Become one with--" and tack on something weird and implausible. But that's okay too, because he really likes the implausible.
Lucien steps one foot up onto the seat of the swing, then the other, and grasps the rusty chains in his fists. Raindrops gather and cling to the woven knit of his sweater, a little gritty, a little grimy, and blotch his crumpled jeans. The rain running off his forehead catches on his eyebrows, then his eyelashes, then falls, and with the water squishing between his toes, who needs plastic? Who needs rain boots when you can have the rain?
Lucien closes his eyes and shakes his head, smiles, and that unusual artifice, become one with--, he feels it; he feels implausible. And maybe...
Maybe that's a pretty okay thing to be.