Father’s Prerogative
I run ten laps around the field. Sounds fill the air: car doors slamming, the hydraulic jounce of the school bus brakes, kids laughing and shouting, adult voices straining over the din. Running is so easy now, almost easier than walking. I get high on the wind against my face, the track disappearing underfoot, the fused rhythms of moving and breathing. The boys on the basketball team, stretching before practice, watch me run, faces slack with boredom. A sixth grader walks outside the fence, holding a book close to her chest. I wave. She waves back.
I wash my face in the bathroom sink, drop the Seroquel in the trash. It’s quiet here, save the distant sounds of a basketball skirmish. Muscles knot and twist under along my shoulders and spine. Backpack pains. I stretch i
