The Color of Courage
Growing up, my friends knew the trajectory of their lives. I was certain of nothing. Their lives followed along the prescribed path. One sure foot in front of the other while I tripped along from one failed experiment to the next. Always off balance, always making lemonade. Never miserable, but never as happy as I imagined I might be.
The golden years found me embarking on yet another experiment. Me and a green scooter, living in a quaint little town, off a quaint little street in a small but comfortable apartment. Enough room for me, an easel, paint and the visitors who randomly arrived at surprisingly regular intervals.
“Is the green scooter downstairs yours?” my old friend asked and smiled when I nodded.
“I should have known. It is so you.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t have the courage to ride it. I’ve always envied you. So bold and daring. You’re never afraid to try something new.”
I poured two glasses of Beaujolais while I considered her words.
“Envy me? Why? You have everything, a great husband, three wonderful kids, and now grandchildren. Isn’t that what you always wanted?” I asked.
“Yes, everything I always wanted. But thirty years ago, I realized something was missing. I’m supposed to be happy, but I’m trapped and I don’t know how to escape.”
I watched as tears trickled down her check.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing her hands and pulling her to her feet. We raced downstairs to the green scooter. She resisted when I insisted she drive, but soon we were sputtering and lurching and jerking down the alley. As she found her balance, she laughed. Soon we and the green scooter bravely careened through town, only seeing the road ahead.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer