He Sits and Squints

He sits and squints through little slits

in his eyelids while watching ice skaters

at the Olympics, especially, as the skaters


fly across the ice preparing for some triple

or even a quadruple this, that or the other.

He’s old enough to know that gravity


will pull the skaters back down to earth

ever so fast, but hopefully, he thinks,

they will go into Olympic slow-motion


post performance play in actual per-

formance time and land on a dime.

Sometimes he even has to look between


his index and third fingers like a Zorro

mask and sometimes closing them

shut before he knows if the skater has


made the jump and landed on all two or

not. Sometimes, he forgets about trying to

watch through the closed fingers, closes


his eyes and listens for a collective

cheer or groan for that matter from the

crowd who actually paid to be at the


event – people like moms and pops

and promoters and coaches and

others like that before he opens his



eyes. Afterward, as he lowers his

Lone Ranger mask hand to pick up the

glass of Sauvignon Blanc given to him


and his wife as a gift when their friends

came to visit. He sips and breathes a sigh of

relief. Either way, thank God, he thinks, it is

over for the moment.



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