He tumbled down the hill into the snowbank below. Foot over head over foot he went, trying to get the motion just right. “I shouldn’t have gone first,” he mumbled as he fell. He’d been doing this for months, from summer to fall to winter, trying to recreate the scenario, trying to catch her part in it. There was the hill, the pail, the well below, his broken crown….all logical. He falls. Crown breaks. She comes tumbling after.
But that’s when it happened. The flash. The blue box. The flash. And there he was, sitting at the bottom of the hill, sore head, alone. It made no sense.
So he catapulted himself over that hill, day after day, hoping she’d appear behind him. Then he had the idea of tumbling himself. After all, she had been tumbling. Maybe if he got the tumbling right, the blue box would come back, take him to her. So there he went, foot over head over foot, down the hill, in all kinds of weather.
But nothing came. No box. No girl. Just the sun as it came and went and came and went as he rolled through the snow.
© Deborah Edler Brown 2012