Some transportation systems require very little planning.
The ball bounced once.
The boy bounced twice.
This seemed unfair.
The enormous white ball had landed perfectly.
He had not.
One sneaker pointed toward the sky. The other was temporarily missing.
For several seconds he lay on the floor, staring upward while the ball rolled slowly away.
Bump.
It touched the wall.
Stopped.
Waited.
The boy sat up.
“You did that on purpose.”
The ball offered no legal representation.
Second Attempt
He retrieved his sneaker.
Then the ball.
The ball was almost as wide as his arms could reach, smooth and cool beneath his palms, with the faint rubbery smell of something that had spent most of its life waiting inside a box.
He climbed on.
His denim jacket bunched under his elbows.
One knee slipped.
He squeezed harder.
The ball flattened slightly.
Then—
Boing.
Boy and ball left the floor together.
Not far.
Perhaps four inches.
Possibly five.
Enough.
His hair rose.
His stomach followed.
He landed laughing.
Boing.
Again.
Boing.
Again.
Soon the room acquired geography.
The rug became a valley.
The sofa became a mountain range.
The hallway was obviously a dangerous northern passage.
A cushion on the floor became something requiring immediate avoidance.
He leaned left.
The ball went right.
He leaned right.
The ball reconsidered everything.
At the doorway, his mother appeared carrying folded towels.
She stopped.
He bounced past.
“Where are you going?”
“Far.”
He disappeared around the corner.
Boing.
“How far?”
Boing.
“The kitchen.”
Passenger Service
His little sister was sitting beside the kitchen table with one sock on.
She watched him arrive.
The ball stopped.
The boy looked at her.
She looked at the ball.
Then at him.
“No.”
She had not asked anything.
This worried him.
She stood.
“No.”
She came closer.
“No.”
Thirty seconds later, the transportation company had accepted its first passenger.
She sat behind him with both arms around his waist.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Hold tight.”
“I am.”
“Very tight.”
“I AM.”
Boing.
They moved approximately fourteen inches.
His sister screamed with delight.
The boy screamed because she had screamed.
The ball continued behaving professionally.
Boing.
Fourteen more inches.
A spoon rattled in a cup.
Somewhere in the kitchen, the refrigerator hummed.
Their mother appeared again.
Still carrying the towels.
She had apparently decided folding them was safer than asking questions.
One More
After lunch, the white ball stood beside the window.
The boy walked past it.
Stopped.
Walked backward.
He pressed one palm against its smooth surface.
It rolled away.
He followed.
His sister followed him.
Their mother watched all three disappear down the hallway.
Boing.
A pause.
Boing.
Laughter.
Then—
THUMP.
Silence.
Their mother closed her eyes.
“Everyone alive?”
“Yes!”
A smaller voice followed.
“Again!”
The ball rolled slowly back into view.
Then the boy.
Then his sister.
They climbed aboard.
By now, the transportation company had developed neither brakes nor insurance.
It did, however, have repeat customers.
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