The Wings

On my way to a train station, I spotted a boy running with his father. He spread his arms, making circles as if they were wings, wanting to soar into the sky. His father followed him, laughing. The boy looked four or five years old, and I was surprised he was in a pram. Until I realised it was a wheelchair. His legs were motionless. 

As I passed by, they turned towards the porch, and the father opened the door for his son.I closed my eyes and imagined the boy running out as if the wheelchair had never been there. But the door was closed, and they didn’t reappear. I slowed down on the path, feeling my feet touch the ground. Watching the grey concrete, I imagined walking on the wet grass and then in the hot sand. I wished I had a magic flower like the girl from a fairytale my mum read to me when I was a child. With every petal of the flower, the girl could make a wish come true.  She gave the last one to the neighbourhood boy, so that he could walk and run. 

On the train, I sighed and said to myself, “I hope the boy will never lose his wings.”