Tucky Lucky

Just heartsick for this boy.

Tuck in Santa Cruz. Taken by the Swanks.

I had no idea he had these flip flops or that he washed out his wet suit in a baby pool. I don’t know what waves he surfed and if he got to close to the rocky cliffs. I don’t know because I live too many miles away from him. I didn’t know his hair was back to being so bleached by the sun and rumpled ruffled curls. I can’t see the thin gap between his front teeth. I didn’t know there were fallen leaves and a funny tiki man on his back patio. It is reassuring that he still rolls up his pant legs. This way of him in Santa Cruz and me in Atlanta isn’t enough. I handle it most of the time but it is just too hard. Our friends stopped by Santa Cruz to visit him and sent me a few photos and my heart cracked right open along the jagged lines that were starting to scar over.

Almost completely grown, and I depended on him being Peter Pan.

I just finished a book called Raymie Nightingale by Kate DiCamillo. It was beautiful and the main character kept asking why does the world exist? And she spoke of her soul shrinking to the size of a marble when she was sad or scared and billowing and growing when she was happy. I hope Tuck’s soul is billowing larger than a spinnaker in a down stream wind.

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