I’m an infant. Life’s safe, predictable and polar. I’m either extremely content or really pissed off. I have my ways of showing it. Typically, I’m either wrapped up, sleeping soundly or taking the stage with tears and exposed scarlet gum. Yesterday, however, taught me the depth of life. Clarity ends with infancy. Clarity ends when that asshole of a neighbor boy steals the very thing you live for.
The rhythm of my day was dictated by when we were together. I love my sauce-sauce. I’d do anything for it. I’ll give up my mashed peas and bottle for it. Mom? Mom who? Mom’s but a mere servant. She fetches it for me when I perform. Then we are together. United in symbiotic bliss. A bliss that I never thought would be replaced by distant affection and awareness.
Looking back, Marco taught me the power of love. His tools – a helium balloon, a piece of string and a devious imagination. What was once realized, tangible, physical, hell…suckable is now something more. It’s my god. It’s my reminder, my motivator, my watchman, my reason for looking to the sky. The only price for it is loss. Bone fracturing loss.