an impossible view
“Kid, what the hell are you doing?”
The California sun is relentless as it bakes everything underneath it. There’s the smell of grass up his nose and cicadas rattle his ears. Everything hurts.
“Kid?”
A blink. Chase blocks the sun and it’s scorching rays as he leans into view. He’s missing his helmet, but the Track Star suit is on, red and white in all its glory. He’s got that look on his face like he’s not sure if he wants to punt him or not.
“Fell out of the tree.” Robert points at said tree, voice scratchy and high pitched. It’s a big tree. The biggest in the neighborhood by a long shot, with it’s dumb purple flowers and weak branches. It’s also got an obnoxiously bright pink kite tangled in it.
Robert spits a purple petal out of his mouth, the taste of sewer sludge sticking to his tongue.
“I know damn well that ain’t your kite,” Chase responds, hands on his hips while one eyebrow raises to meet his hairline. “The fuck are you climbing this tree for?”
“It’s Tracy’s kite," he complains back, sighing as his hand flops into the grass beside him. Its itchy against his skin, pins and needles rising all over his body because he’d fallen hard. Like, basically at the top of the tree before a branch snapped kind of hard. “She’s sad it got stuck so I was tryin’ to get it for her.”
Chase stares at him, face shuttering through all 5 stages of grief before he looks over his shoulder at the gaggle of kids playing hopscotch down the sidewalk. Tracy, youngest out of all of them at 7 years old with bright blonde curls and missing two front teeth, stands with her hands clasped together, wide eyes watching them. The superhero grunts.
“Always doing too much,” the man shakes his head, “Well don’t just lay there then. We got an audience, dumbass.”
Hands shove themselves under his armpits, and the world tilts as he’s picked up and dropped onto his feet. Robert doesn’t get a chance to orient himself before he’s being turned towards the tree, heavy hands latched onto his shoulders.
The big Jacaranda looms over them, casting shadows across his face. Another blink, the hands disappear. Chase is in front of him now, kneeling with a smirk as he ties back his locs. “You ain’t concussed, are you? That’d be damn embarrassing. Are you seeing three of me?”
Robert’s face crumples in indignation, body aching distantly. “If there were three of you I’d cry.”
That was a lie. Big kids didn’t cry, and while three Chase’s would be awful, Robert is 9 now so he’s big and didn’t cry over anything. The speedster barks a laugh, reaching out to cover Robert’s face and shake him around like he’s a bobble head. He lets him, mostly because he knows it’s impossible to avoid it. And he doesn’t wanna be put in timeout again for biting.
“Alright, shithead,” The superhero pulls his hand away, and now he looms over Robert too, still wearing that dumb smirk. Sun beams break through the branches and surround him like spotlights as he turns to put his back to him. Then he’s pulling that pose, the one that lines magazine covers and news broadcasts; The one where even without the helmet he looks like he’ll save the day. Robert feels a thrill of excitement go through him, lips twitching into a smile for the first time in the last 5 minutes.
“I’m about to show you how a real professional gets kites down from trees. Think you can keep up?”
There’s a flash of light, and-
