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  • I came up the back staircase and he was standing there, hands in pockets.

    "Stop your pushing. You've been pushing me again..." he muttered

    It was nice to see him, it had been awhile and I had been expecting his return. But he seemed so agitated, uneasy.

    Before I could answer, he continued "And I know why... It's 'cause you want to see me fall, don't you? Or fail. Or both..."

    He was now struggling, teary-eyed, looking out the window, out into the field we played in as children. He couldn't remember all that I could, just blurred fragments, bits and pieces. The dynamics of our relationship were much more confusing to him, threatening I think, because of this.

    "No, it's not that. (It wasn't.) I don't push you to fall and God, no, I don't want you to fail. I push you because I want you to...fly."

    It came out sounding odd, maybe phony even, but it felt true. I hoped he'd stick around long enough this time for me to elaborate, to explain it to him. At least part of it. Maybe.

    But it was too late, he'd already vanished. I had pushed (or possibly pulled) too hard, lost him again.
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