The jump

The Reach Light Sculpture

The Reach Light Sculpture

I walked. And my heart begun to pound.

Everything zeroing into the moment.

Past, future… and every possible permutation, softly dissipating.

It was a duel, as I solemnly turned my back and walked the agreed upon twenty steps.

I felt like a pirate walking through the plank, everyone around in absolute silence.

The air suddenly stood still, trees and branches held their breath, birds disappeared.

The overture of a Requiem had begun.

When I stopped at the last step I took a deep breath and slowly turned around to face my enemy.

I stared at it for a couple of seconds.

My friends stood like Roman gladiators, looking at me with respect, even admiration.

It was a late Saturday afternoon right before sundown.

Soon enough, and we all knew it, our mothers would call us to go home, have supper, take a shower.

But no one was going anywhere. At least not for the next 20 seconds.

Back then, every single Saturday was a lifetime.

The ramp we spent all day building to attempt the 10 feet jump across our neighborhood’s park water canal looked strong enough.

So did my bike. I jumped on it and pedaled as if my life depended on it.

A last thought crossed my mind:

“Minutes before, I drew the shortest stick among everyone but,

was it really the shortest stick?”

 
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The last day of Taras

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Standing up