“Do you know you're always talking about windows?” he said.
“Am I?” I answered.
Rewinding. Everything racing; downrush. Standing in the nursery yard. Four years old. Watching the other children interact and play, being on the other side of the imaginary window, looking in. The outsider. I remember admiring it. Looking. Why can't I do that? Why can't I interact with him? He is the boy, the boy on the vivid, red trike. I wanted a turn, but I didn't know how to ask. So, I didn't ask. Instead, I stood and watched.
About the author
Katherine Abbott is a working-class writer, currently pursuing a PhD in creative writing. Her stories focus on the tapestry of human experience, characterized by the perpetual search for connection, meaning, and understanding in ordinary life.
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