Sprint across the carpet. Careful through the kitchen. Up and down the hallways. Stairs: Bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-BUH! Perfect landing. Running again. Closer, closer. Reach out a hand…Thud. We fall to the ground. Laughing. No, crying. “Mom!” Then, bowed head. Whispered apologies. Booboos and kisses. All better. If only words could mend the way kisses used to. Now it’s not hearing, “Mom!” that means I’ve been caught; it’s conjunctions like “so…” and the sentence, “I wanted to talk…” always left open, like an invitation to yell “STOP!” It’s the point where things change, though I hoped they would not.
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