The miniature hand grasps mine as his body twirls in space. He is in the stratosphere, not hearing my pleas to be still. The red scabs on his knees show his lack of coordination. Suddenly, he crashes into a young toddler.
My face blushes crimson as I apologize.
“It’s OK. My older son has autism, too.”
The word burns my ears as I glance at my spinning child. Is it obvious? Are people staring? Instead of smiling back, I inspect my ruby sandals.
The bus arrives. We board, and I sit far from the stranger.
Another chance for friendship, lost.
This post is written for Flash!Friday’s Warmup Wednesday exercise.
Directions: Write a scene or an entire story of 100 words on the nose (no more, no fewer), inspired by this photograph. No judging. All fun. (Normal Flash! Friday guidelines regarding content apply.)