“Seriously?” he asked me. Barely a teen, there was so much—conceptual or real—that he’d not seen or even dreamed of.
“Well,” I admitted, “it is only a thought. An idea. I kind of figure that heaven will be something like this—that we’ll be able to create almost anything we want. So long as it holds to the laws of gravity and so forth.”
Our eyes caught, and we had the same scandalous thought.
“But,” I continued, “if it’s like ‘The Matrix,’ maybe we can bend the laws a little!”
“Yeah! Like I think, Dad, what I’m going to do is to practice all the parkour moves I want to do…”
“Yeah. Only…” and he started to walk away to pack his backpack for school, “I won’t ever get hurt and stuff.”
There was a smile on his face as though his hope were catching up to his dream—as much of a smile as he would allow himself when he made a remark that he wanted to linger on. He looked at me over his right shoulder as he walked to his bag. His smile was there. And when I watched him start to put his binder in his bag, his smile was still there.
His movements and steps were confident, deliberate, as though he finally felt his feet growing down to the ground.
photo: Bosque Urbano, by MAD Architects