B is for butterfly.

On land you moved awkwardly, lumbering from class to class pigeon-toed, your long, lanky arms swinging stiffly at your side. But for all your grounded gracelessness, I adored you intensely, and never more than when your mop-top curls were tamed beneath a swimmer's cap, your brown shoulders dotted with reflected sunlight. In the water your chlorine blue eyes twinkled with a little boy's joy, and no wonder, what a wonder of speed and grace you were. Once, we shared a perfect afternoon combing the beach for sea glass, nothing but the roar of the ocean between us. And now, whenever you see my mother combing that same beach you ask about me, and never once has she told me you're just around the corner.