The Rolling Cog

I got loose. Just for one afternoon.

A mounting bracket failed. Rust, nothing heroic. And I rolled: down the long hall, across the good floor, trailing sparks and bits of somebody’s catalogue. Alarms everywhere. Three departments arguing about whose fault it was.

And one kid ran alongside me the whole way. Didn’t try to stop me. Didn’t run away. Just ran next to me, laughing, the way you’d run beside a dog that slipped its lead, for the pure joy of something that was supposed to stay put not staying put.

They bolted me back down by evening. I still count it as the best day I’ve had.