sunrise

by chris.

the trampoline is on the east side of the house and as kids we'd jump as the sun rose.
we'd go higher and higher, thinking that we jumped so high that we could see the sun
before it had actually risen. we stared wide-eyed into the east, into the blindingly
dull first light of the morning, jumping higher and higher.

"don't hit an airplane!" he cried to me. i think he was joking, but after a while we
both started taking the danger seriously and considered an airplane collision a possibility.

"you watch above us and i'll watch the sun," i said. "make sure we don't hit anything."

he agreed and we kept jumping, a little more solemn and careful.

i stared at the sun. a purple dot began to cover it, and then the dot got bigger. after
a while, if i looked straight at the sun i couldn't see it; there was now only a black
dot surrounded by purple.

"can you see the sun?" i asked. he looked.

"yeah."

"what about from here? here, jump over here."

i began jumping out of the way when i heard him scream for half a second. i looked around
as i jumped and couldn't see him, just a black dot that seemed to be getting bigger. i
looked up and searched the sky, and then, right on the edge of the growing black dot, i
saw his body, tangled and twitching in the power lines above me.

back to me