Wheelchair in the Park

When Fred was still alive I used to push him in his wheelchair to the park, just so he could touch the grass with his toes. He was over six feet tall and probably 120 pounds, skin and bones. I’d leave him under a tree and jog in wide loops circling back to check on him. One time a lady came up and offered him a sandwich, thinking he was homeless and hungry. Fred refused it; he was on a macro diet to rid him of cancer, the same cancer that eventually killed him.

As spring approaches and I lace up to run at the park, I think of Fred. I miss orbiting around him.