The skater.

June 29, Pepperell.

We were here two years ago, on the same lot; at first it seemed like a new town, then the gazebo and skaters' park behind us brought back memories. Then the memories came rushing in.
I remember this kid in particular, maybe because he had such grace about him, he skated so effortlessly, he seemed to flow, not just skate, he appeared as absolutely in his own world as anyone could hope to be, he was skating, the others were parading, showing off, practicing, flirting. Here he was, two years later, the same place, the same group of kids congregating on an early summer day, almost a man now, but there was also a little of the intimations of life's complications to come about him now, the free-flowing gone, but not the grace, yet.
I almost had the urge to hold him, to wish time sucked out of his life so that it would not reach his lucky childhood's simplicity, before even the most privileged have to face life's intricate fights and delicate deceits.
Dylan was having the time of his life, hanging with the big boys, he'd found a helmet someone had left there, he moved in there with Gigi's scooter, in the morning when there wasn't that many kids around, but then I had to pry him out, he was just too small.
He is so small, he has a lot of time, he's at the cusp of things yet.