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Chapter 2- Noah

The smell of pancakes and sausage floats up the hallway. Sunlight lazily pushes against the curtains. It pauses against a poster on the opposite wall. Then, ever so slowly, it drips down until it fills the room in a pool of light. Soaking his face, it slides through his messy brown hair and along his elf-like ears until it reaches his jaw. Slipping downward, it runs along his small shoulders and past his soft chest. Flowing still, it rushes past knobby knees and bitten nails. It finally rests along his stubbed toes and scratchy sheets.

The man blinks for a moment and groans. Rolling over, he buries his face into his pillow until the smell of a delicious breakfast appears to grab him by the chin and lift his face. Muttering about a dream lost to reality, he sits up. Glancing down at a floor covered in scratches, he grins, remembering something from long ago.

It was when rollerblades were a thing, and every kid had to have a pair. No matter how much he had asked, his parents refused to buy one for him but instead made him work for it. It's how he got his job as a paperboy in the first place. To this day, he remembers collecting nickels and dimes for months, just to get a pair.

He used to dream about them and how they'd look. Neon colors were cool and all, but the striped ones would do. Besides, the color of them didn't matter. No, it was the feeling. The feeling of the wind on his face as he raced around. The feeling of being the fastest and beating his sister to school every day. The feeling of almost having wings, as if he could fly into the distance and leave this place behind. Yes, he got it for the same thrill all the other kids did, but there was something more to it.

He couldn't wait when the day finally came. He had earned enough money. Months of working, rain, snow or shine, had paid off after all. He could finally get his precious skates. He ran home the day they came and held the box in his hands for hours. The packaging, the images, the colors, he wanted to keep it all. Eventually, he opened the box with the precision of a surgeon, feeling the weight of the skates in his hands. The way the wheels moved effortlessly, the way the simple, single stripe seemed to have a million things to say. How clean they were then.

He carefully put them on his feet, sitting there for a moment or two. So this is what success felt like. Standing up, he fell down again almost instantly. Clumsily making his way around the house, it was one of the happiest days of his life. Doing laps around the kitchen table had never been more fun. The way his mom ran after him with a spoon when he refused to stop was even better.

And yet, once they were on his feet the next day, all the magical feelings faded. He couldn't fly and he didn't get to school that much faster. He was still last as always and still behind his sister. Something about the magic of having a dream, having something to work towards, was better than the end result.