Trapezoids Conquered
I climbed wooden fences. A step up on the bottom rung, then hands gripped the top pickets. They dug into my palms, left ridges as I pulled myself up, knee scraping against the wood, breath huffing against treated pine, close-up whorls. A scramble, a grunt, then I was up, balancing on the cross-beam and the post, the pickets at my ankles. Trapezoids conquered.
It gripped me then, adrenaline sharp and cramping my stomach, a sensation that repeats and crawls up my throat and into my brain. Hands sweat. Exhale.
The drop doesn’t look too far. It’s only six feet. I have to get to the other side of this, where the grass is greener and taller. It’ll cushion me.
I’ve done this so many times before. My friends are waiting, don’t be chicken.
I wobble and walk, bent and steady on the fence tops. I wonder if the neighbor will notice this crazy kid climbing and crossing this fence.
Don’t do it near windows. Don’t do it in front of cops. Don’t do it where grown-ups can see. It should be careful and private: crossing this fence. Traversing this border. Adventure’s over there.
It’s time to jump. Really this time, here I go. I always land on my feet.
Hard pressure shocks, jars me. My right ankle twinges. I shake it off. It’s time to run. The fence always seems taller from the top. But it was just a little thing. A little obstacle dividing here and there.
Don’t climb the fences. If I catch you again, you and me are gonna go ‘round and ‘round.
I grin. I go where I need to. Fences don’t keep me out. Or in.
