We are having a handstand competition. Our hands always seem to be leading the way, in everything we do, lately. I don’t think it is like this with other people. I don’t remember it being like this with anyone else I know, anyway.
We are hand-standing against the hill. When I was younger, I used to be able to kick my legs right over and plant my feet against the grass, and then kick them back again, up into the air. Now I’m not so brave, or bendy. Nowadays, I can hold my own against gravity for between ten and twenty seconds, never much more. Ivan can’t handstand for shit, though. The longest he’s managed to stay up is seven seconds. I am winning gloriously.
From upside-down, the world looks so much bigger. The sky becomes the ground, spotted here and there with the cotton of cumulus, and in turn the ground becomes the sky, stretching out forever in greens and browns and greys. Things don’t make any more or less sense, though. Even with all that extra blood rushing to my head, I’m still confused as hell about what is going on between us. It seems I’ve gone from a carefully executed nonchalance to being this animated bundle of anxiety and wishings. And I’m not quite sure when and how it happened. And I don’t know how Ivan feels in all of this. Part of me wishes I could get back to the time when I didn’t care.