On Not Walking Alone

The other day I read a review of a play by an Irish playwright, and was reminded of another of his plays and was relieved it was a bright morning of full sunshine and a strong wind pushing away the clouds, or I would have been spooked, as this other play (to me) was thoroughly terrifying in a Kafkaesque kind of way (but keep in mind, I can’t handle seeing horror movie).

I was distracted by other things and then, before I knew it, I was running down the stairs to meet Charlie’s schoolbus, and watching him make his lunch, and helping him practice the cello, and then (even though it must have been the coldest day of the year) we went on our daily walk up and down the main boulevard of the condo development we live in. As it had been snowing on and off since Friday, there were medium-high piles of chunky, soot-streaked ice and a patchwork trail of ice from snow that had melted a bit in the day, and refrozen.

In earlier days, I would have been gripping Charlie’s hand, terrified that he might slip on the ice and fall and—if he came down hard on his hand or knee— hit his head, as if to clarify to himself that some other part of his body was hurting. Charlie’s balance when he was younger was always a shaky thing and he didn’t seem to note when there was slippery black ice, versus pavement. Monday night, Charlie walked on his own, now slowing down to tap the ground a bit to see where it was slick, now stopping to stomp and stamp on chunks of frozen snow.

The boulevard is well lit and cars are constantly going by, so it was alternately fairly bright, and then dark, with some of the snowy piles illuminated. As we walked—-Charlie humming and singing a few verses of “Winter Wonderland” in a loop—I thought of how a younger me walking on a dark December evening by myself would have thought irresistably of that other play by the Irish playwright, and been scared to think of who might be walking at my back, or what might be hiding in the shadows.

Maybe I’ll be walking a lot longer with Charlie, and maybe he’ll indeed be living much longer than many children do with their parents, but no play or story too’s scary when you’ve a stalwart, a steady companion, on dark nights and bright days on the long long road. When I’m walking with Charlie, I’m never alone.