Early in his life, the upward stretch beckoned him to explore. The lazy mid-morning light was languid and the neighborhood air calm and empty, especially of parental figures. He reached high on the rails, meeting the halfway mark and gripped tight. His feet holds were problematic; the curves of the swirled inlays in the wrought-iron railing resisted easy ascension. He wedged a Converse hightop into a swirl's connection to the left rail and shimmed his hands up over the flaking rustoleum paint for greater height while his unsure right foot dangled behind him. With extreme concentration and exertion, he pigeon-holed his right shoe into the bottom of a bigger curlycue and felt his left ankle starting to shake from the pressure of his form; his right leg now bore some of his form's weight at another obtuse angle, but at least the burden was shared between his two legs. His hands slid upward, quicker now in his physical interaction...like time was running out for his climb...and caught a spiderweb in his hand. One hand gripped the rail while the other tried to shake free the dusty adherence. Both ankles began to strain, he was almost up to the top, and he suffered the web-crusted hand for a victory extension of his feat--needing to slap his palm onto the carport ceiling for verification, which he did with a hurried pop--and then he clung to the rails while his gravity intensified. His bottom foot seemed to be asleep and stuck, unresponsive to his coaxed releasing. His right foot was wedged; this was when his arms and hands and back and shoulders chorused their exerted pain. His panic was real. He yanked on his right foot, bending the curved decoration inlay on the wrought ironwork, wrenching his leg free. His exulation of movement caused his handgrip to give away suddennly, plummeting him to the ground. A final touching of his right leg, under the weight of this fall, and the weakened handgrips that came far too late, combined to find him on his back with the left shoe still trapped in the now bent bottom curve of the wrought iron railing, fists white-knuckle locked about 2 feet off the ground saving himself from the smack of concrete by sheer fear and coursing adrenaline, and heavenly luck. He gasped for breath, his hands stung, his leg was twisted but numb from lack of bloodflow, and he was practically in shock by the flurry of events. Extracting his twisted foot, he recalled that he reached upward, he had touched the top, he had overcome his desire without dying.
