wide-eyed and beautiful

slowly she raises her eyes and smiles, can’t be but ten or eleven and still growing faster than she can figure out but damn, she looks happier about having a new day than anyone else I know while I, like the rest of us, just stumble outdoors and don’t feel so great some days about getting up early or stay up too late or drink too much or get lazy for brief interludes.
So I’m a victim of her and her friends’ raw appreciation (this girl I once watched playing hula hoop not a week ago) of every single day and anyone who doesn’t go with them in their moods is damned. That much is clear.
One of her friends is this little tyke of a kid, he must be a couple years younger but he’s got the worst case of the shakes I’ve seen outside of alcoholism. he’s always moving always jumping around skinning his knee, etc. the funny thing is that his parents probably hate it, if they haven’t yet, they will soon take him to a doctor and say “doc, what’s wrong with him, he’s always so excited! Please, doc, make it stop.” And he or she prescribes whatever under-tested half-cocked option of a ritalin clone that’s out nowadays and is all to happy to accept the kickback he gets from the drug company (hint: Zoloft did 12 billion in business last year) and the parents go home happy that their once wide-eyed and beautiful little boy will now be quiet and sit in the corner of the room without dancing for joy very often or very much and they’ll turn to each other and say “how fine it is to have a kid who no longer enjoys life, right dear?”
“right dear.”


2004-10-22 | 11:56 a.m.
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