![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Out of reach.
I was today years old when I saw someone literally jump up and down in anger and rage, just like every cartoon depiction.
I was going up the hill; he and his two daughters were going down. He was on foot, with the daughters on little scooters. Both were wearing helmets, one in purple and one in pink, with the girl in pink speeding ahead, not quite managing to figure out her scooter's breaks. Despite her father's cries to break and go slow, she kept going fast. Not for the joy of speed, but more, it seemed, because she didn't know how to slow down. I kept going up, to get my bike to the rental dock, and they kept going down - and I hear a mighty, angry shout, and turn around to see the girl in pink on the ground at the bottom of the hill, with her father jumping up and down. Yelling. Swearing. Angry and upset and enraged. Shouting at her to have known better and to have listened to him and the worry of taking her to a hospital and letting her have it like she was someone much, much older than a little girl on a pink scooter.
I said nothing, not looking back, not wanting to stare, going back to pushing my bike back to the dock. Once it was secured, about a minute later, I went to peer over the fence and through the trees, down to where I'd last seen them.
She was in her father's arms, legs around his waist, being held gently, rocked to soothe and calm her. He kept her there as her sister took her scooter and the three of them kept going through the park, him carrying her along like the little girl on a pink scooter that she was.
There's a lot I can't know about what I saw, and there's a lot I won't be certain about. I wasn't involved in any way except as an observer and can't rightly say what went on in all three heads in those few moments. But for having seen someone honestly, genuinely jump up and down like that - I know it'll stay with me a while.
I was going up the hill; he and his two daughters were going down. He was on foot, with the daughters on little scooters. Both were wearing helmets, one in purple and one in pink, with the girl in pink speeding ahead, not quite managing to figure out her scooter's breaks. Despite her father's cries to break and go slow, she kept going fast. Not for the joy of speed, but more, it seemed, because she didn't know how to slow down. I kept going up, to get my bike to the rental dock, and they kept going down - and I hear a mighty, angry shout, and turn around to see the girl in pink on the ground at the bottom of the hill, with her father jumping up and down. Yelling. Swearing. Angry and upset and enraged. Shouting at her to have known better and to have listened to him and the worry of taking her to a hospital and letting her have it like she was someone much, much older than a little girl on a pink scooter.
I said nothing, not looking back, not wanting to stare, going back to pushing my bike back to the dock. Once it was secured, about a minute later, I went to peer over the fence and through the trees, down to where I'd last seen them.
She was in her father's arms, legs around his waist, being held gently, rocked to soothe and calm her. He kept her there as her sister took her scooter and the three of them kept going through the park, him carrying her along like the little girl on a pink scooter that she was.
There's a lot I can't know about what I saw, and there's a lot I won't be certain about. I wasn't involved in any way except as an observer and can't rightly say what went on in all three heads in those few moments. But for having seen someone honestly, genuinely jump up and down like that - I know it'll stay with me a while.
no subject
no subject