That generation had skills. Dad could whittle, ink calligraphy. My uncle sang in Oklahoma.

I had a tarnished blade, lumbering larynx.

Refrigerator humming, Mom grasped at my skittish hands.

“Come on,” she said.

“I can’t.”

Until 10th grade, dark gym, my head buzzing, when the girl said, “You can so.”

Steve Saulsbury resides on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. His flash fiction has appeared in The Yard, Press 53, Loch Raven Review, South Florida Poetry Journal, and recently, Cosmorama. Steve works for the YMCA, also volunteering with Rock Steady Boxing for Parkinson’s.