There’s no use crying.

He spilled milk once, just once, but he never forgot it. Maybe it was because of saying—what was that saying?—about spilled milk, or maybe because he would never be sure if he tipped over that glass on purpose. Either way, the damage was done. He had slipped on the milk, slid on the spill, and snapped his spinal cord like a raw guitar string. From the confines of his wheelchair, his head bolted upright, he eyed milk carefully while someone else poured. And they always would.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s