Big Fry Bridge

By: Kailey Milks

The cool tile under our feet
disappears from the gap
between us as the tips of my toes
touch yours. I look up to you,
so much so that my head is tilted
far back enough for my neck to ache, a twig
about to snap. Your chin digs into your chest
so your gaze may meet mine. It is uncomfortable,
I imagine, yet you do it anyway. Your soft
chuckle radiates through you
and the tile beneath us is not so cold anymore. You laugh at me
and call me Small Fry. In a mixture of sibling
rivalry and sisterly love I smile furiously
back at you and call you Big Fry,
my spine straightening with pride.
I can still see your smirk as you turned
and left the room.

We were children, then.
We could not imagine
that one day we would no longer share
the same world. That you would grow up, I would
cling to childhood. That the wind would carry
your howls far away while I stood in the background
trying desperately to command the breeze
to do the same for me.

But I was not too young,
I was not too small
to realize that this moment,
this pointless, barefoot moment,
would keep us together
no matter how large that tile gap grew.