Contributor: Eric Suhem
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He pedaled more furiously. He was 3 years old, riding a tricycle through a maze of hedges in the springtime. At each turn he became more lost, and he could feel the wings bearing down on him from the sky. His brain started to throb and bubble, seemingly simmering for an imminent explosion. Finally he couldn’t pedal anymore, and the tricycle stopped in the far corner of the labyrinth. His sister was there and she looked at his head. “There’s a dead butterfly in your hair,” she said, pinching it with her thumb and forefinger. He stared at her, and looked around, seeing nothing but foliage towering above, and started to smile.
Now he was riding a bright red bicycle over the new pavement in the tract-house suburban neighborhood. He was 9 years old. It was a bright summer’s afternoon, the temperature over 100...
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Author:
Eric Suhem
