Her knees, grazing the handlebars as she sits. We’re here again at her favourite ride. She’s too big for the animal she’s chosen, for any of the animals really, but she doesn’t know this, not yet. The other kids, struggling to find a place to put their feet. A parent’s steady hand pressing into each one of their small backs. This is where I stand now, alone, waiting on the other side of a metal barrier. Her smile widening as the music starts. My hands with nowhere to go. And then she waves, and my hand shoots skyward, waving back.
Jennifer Stark (she/they) writes from her garage in Toronto, Canada. Her work has appeared in Popshot Literary, Fieldfare, Bruiser, and FEELS Zine, among others.