Peas

 I’m the boy in the window, watching the world go by.

A woman carries a bag of grapefruits in a reusable net bag. The weight of the bag pulls it out of her grasp. The grapefruits go tumbling to the ground and splatter on the pavement. Their juice drips into the storm drain. 

A kid dribbles a soccer ball as she walks down the sidewalk. She swipes her foot over the top of the ball, pulling it carefully back under control.

There’s two teenaged boys. One is bouncing a basketball arrogantly back and forth between his legs. He pauses and spins it on the top of his pointer finger. His friend steals the ball, gives it a throw, and sinks a basket in my neighbour's hoop.

An older woman pushes her walker slowly along the pavement, wheels spinning in spurts that match her stride. An elderly man walks behind her with his cane, trying to keep up. His eyes cast downwards to avoid stepping on the grapefruits scattered across his path.

Mom calls me for dinner. I come from my window and sit down at my seat as mom pours frozen peas - since reheated in the microwave and seasoned with salt - into a mountain on my plate. I squish them with my fork and the mountain turns into a flat field of green. Mom says to stop playing with my food. 

She doesn’t know that reshaping the world isn’t child's play.

_________________

I’m trying to learn the courage to always mash my peas.

Inspired by some friends who are engaging in hard conversations that are changing the world.