All the time in the world

Photo via Cozi 

flash fiction friday #50

“What does green mean?”

“Gooooooo!”

“And when you see a red light?”

“Stop!” Only it sounded more like “tap”, the sibilance lost in the unsteady tongue of a toddler. I glanced in the rear view mirror and marveled again that he was mine. His eyes were pools of deep green brushed by the softest lashes. Dark hair curled around his ears and sometimes when he grew pensive or peals of laughter reached their peak I could see his father in him. 

Up ahead, the road loped around mountains just turning green. To our left, the land fell away into the brown Chattahoochee. I had been jealous of its lazy dangerous current for a long, long time, wishing I could follow it south and never look back. I wished my little man could see it from where he sat. It was a glorious spring day, one of those that sent runners and moms and strollers outside in droves. Even muddy after the rain, the river glistened, reveling in the sun's attention.

We didn't have much now. In the trunk were two bags, carefully packed, a little dusty from having sat on the top shelf in the garage, and a stack of reusable grocery bags I had no plans of actually using this day. I reached across the front seat and patted my purse, checking for the thousandth time that the wad of cash was still there, and exhaled.

“Mama?” he said.

“Yes, pumpkin pie?”

“Ow-side!” he demanded, poking his finger against the tempered glass.

I'd expected this. We'd only get so far before he either napped or went stir crazy and he was still wide-eyed, so sleep was out. Truth be told, I could use stretching my legs and maybe something to eat. We'd need gas soon, too.

“Yes baby, outside. You wanna go weeee?” Weeee was toddler speak for swing. We'd just passed a sign for a park and where there's a park in Georgia, there are swings.

“Weeee!” I took that as a yes.

I slowed down and pulled into the gravel lot and shuffled over to his side of the car. I lifted him delicately and set him down. He slipped his tiny hand easily into mine and we took off toward the swings, giggling.

I set him into the plastic seat and he turned, grabbing my arm in the serious way insistent toddlers do, and ran his fingers along the bruise on my forearm. I flinched, not because it hurt, because I hadn't wanted him to see it. I hadn't wanted him to see any of it. “Boo boo,” he said, drawing it to his lips. My eyes filled with water.

“Boo boo all better now,” I said.

“You ready for weeee?” I struggled not to crumple before him.

“Weeee!” he cried as I pulled the swing back and let 'er rip. Each time he swung back he yelled for more and I gave him more, kept pushing, wiping tears as his swing tipped higher. We had time for more, we had all the time in the world.

Flash Fiction Friday is a weekly writing prompt exercise led by Elisha Bartels. She posts them on Fridays to her blog and social media and writers use the trigger words to write a short piece of fiction - pose, poetry and the like. Writers post their story to their blog or social space and share with Elisha - in her blog or Facebook comments or email - tagging others in the group where possible. It's no pressure and fun and always great to see everyone's approach. Feel free to join in!