My charismatic friend M- writes stories on a camcorder. He grips it between his elbows, switches it on with his chin. He was born without hands; the drug Thalidomide stole them as he somersaulted in his mother’s womb. When we met, I was working as a cashier in a windowless cafeteria and felt like a wilted salad. He ordered a soda. I carried the drink to his wheelchair. He greeted me by raising his camera; it seemed to blaze like a trumpet. “Look what I have!” As we discovered our mutual love of movies, every worry weighing me down disappeared.
K Roberts is a professional non-fiction writer, a published artist and poet, who reads fiction for two literary magazines.