I sat on our sunbaked porch, sipping sweet tea from a tall glass, watching Eli crouched low, chalk in hand, drawing dinosaurs that seemed larger than life across the concrete driveway. The sunlight glinted off his damp curls, sticking to his flushed cheeks, while the neighborhood simmered in the heavy air. “Mom,” Eli called, tilting his head up with those wide, observant eyes that always seemed older than his five years, “why’s that man walking funny?” I followed his gaze down the street. A mailman I didn’t recognize trudged slowly along the curb, each step deliberate, weighed down as though gravity had doubled overnight. His uniform, soaked through with sweat, clung to his body.Continue reading…
