Aspirations

By Will Sharp

I laid there, in deafening silence. I appraised the clouds, their shapeless form took hold of my imagination. The Sun was warmer, the air cooler, the grass softer. I could hear the cicadas chirping in the distance; sounding off in no particular order. A small mound of dirt protruded into my back. I loved to lay down here, but it was always so hard to get up. Short grass surrounded me, and further still, the tree line entrapped me. Those days where I laid there, that meadow was mine. It was fully functional for it always allowed me to escape. If one looked hard enough around this meadow of mine, one could find a shape. If one looked harder still, they would comprehend its diagonal angles. I know this place for more than a reserve. People’s lives have been decided here. People have sweat blood and tears here to be the best. I wish I could hear the crowd yelling, taste the excitement in the air; touch the era.

My great grandfather once played here. “He was a great!” they’d say. I never knew him, but sometimes, when all is where it should be, and the air moves every so slightly, I can still see him run the bases.

I know it’s him, because one time he stopped and talked to me. He told me to “keep up” with him.

I will never forget that day, for I am a boy that has leg braces, and up until that day; I had no hope.