Snapshot

I saw a little boy today on the mall, breathing hard on a bench. I caught him in a moment when the expression hanging on his face was like a gateway to the man he was going to become: he suffers from low-grade chronic anxiety. He likes to pretend he’s invisible. He is angry and he doesn’t know why. He finds pleasure in quiet, private spaces. He wants desperately to please (fill in name of boss/significant other/parent). But right now: he is racing his brother down the mall and stopping to rest on wet park benches.