Synopsis of T

It was the year T became paralyzed.  He became the poster child for Adults Against Doorway Flipping.  A.A.D.F. was a poor acronym, but the P.T.A. thought the world of them.  They “no-handedly” put doorway flipping amongst school-aged kids into extinction.  T was the picture they posted on every ad.  T’s story was condensed from experience into two simple sentences: “I did it.  Now, a catheter drains my pee.”

The younger children were so touched they became fearful of somersaulting.  The wiser students nodded their heads in a silent accord.  They would never flip off another door.

But I knew T.  I’d like to think we were friends.  On occasion, I would wager he’d call me “pal” to my face.  It was genuine.  The way his tenor rumbled just beneath his alto spoke his sincerity.  He was just that type of guy, nearly perfect.  You imagined there were no flaws in his heart built of diamonds.

He’s gone now most likely in Tallahassee, Fryeburg, or Paris, Maine’s regional school district.  A prophet composed of tragedy for kids take heed.

We’re not friends anymore.  I lost a piece of him as we went from knew to know.  The current puzzle didn’t have the same composition it once did.  We have only spoken four times since he fell.  They were terse and he ended each conversation.  Back then I’d like to think we were friends.


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