While admiring the pole vaulter at the athletics meet, I am reminded of the writing of Hemingway. Of the Matador and the bull. The elegance, the artistry, the strength and the bravery. The vaulter holding the lance, the bar is the bull. She survives for the next round being close, but not touching the bar. Stretching and prancing, holding the lance high up over her head, she is up on her toes rehearses her expressions, twisting in immaculate form. The moment of bravery and strength as she commits to stick the lance and glide high into the air, lithe and liquid she pours across as a cape, teasing the bar as she passes.
Sitting in the classroom, double maths, some sort of torture of a thing to happen on a monday morning. Numbers confuse me and no amount of thought is making them any friendlier, I stare blankly at the problems lying on my desk. Many in the class seem to be having similar issues, the teacher is explaining the formula once again in impatient tone. Fraser the school lunatic is loudly airing his distaste for this class, learning and the school in general. Some of the class laugh, antagonising the wrought teacher some more. So the teacher tells Fraser to shut up, which doesn’t go down well with Fraser at all, in fact he tells the teacher to fuck off, a mixture of laughter and embarrassed silence permeates the room, and the teacher attempts to remove Fraser from the class. In a fit of kicking and swearing he is cajoled shoved and carried out of the classroom. In their absence the class turns to chatter on the events unfolding. My mind wanders and I stare out of the window. I imagine the Millennium Falcon landing on the playing fields.
Gravity tripped me once again, so I cursed at it once more, damn you pulling me to trip on nothing but a rug on the floor. The very next day I tripped on a paving slab, poorly laid on the crooked path, no fall was felt at all, quite the reverse as I drifted off the earth. I felt queazy at first, then joyful, as dream arrived and gravity let loose it’s grip. Now above the trees and above the roofs I continue to float on up. The joy felt now fading fast as my rise is unabated, streets now thin as cotton and the buildings just scattered crumbs. The clouds tickle my ears and the air too thin for my lungs, I ask for gravity’s forgiveness, but he is not yet done. The clouds fall from my feet, elation briefly reappears, as our beautiful marble gently tumbles under me, last breath, then I disappear.