Arun walked home from school everyday. Alone. He liked his friends and played with them all day. But the walk from the school to home was his journey to make.
Why? Because he took a lot of detours and his friends were too hungry to accompany him every day.
His mother worried when she saw him returning, later than all the other boys. She asked him why he was late. He said he walked slow. His mother worried.
So one day she walked to school and watched him leave.
She was curious. She had been a kid once. She had a world she lived in. When touching every railing, every wall on the way home was necessary, deciding which route to school she should take. There weren’t men she was afraid of. It was the dogs. She loved her white uniform. She was proud of being prefect. In school, obedience was the ultimate duty. Being a kid was nice.
He walked like her. With a skip and a hop. Like there was some jazz playing. He stopped to stare at flowers in the cracks of stone. And walls with drawings. He removed a pencil from his pencil box and drew a house. He loved drawing on walls. Her house was proof. The house was made with two windows and a door. Also, a mountain and a sun between them. Then he walked some more. Stopped near a puddle of water and pretended he was fishing. She laughed.
Then he went some more, stopped near a bunch of elderly vegetable vendors, smiled at them, took a free carrot and walked along. She was worried, the carrot was unwashed. Maybe he’d fall ill.
Then he sat down on a ledge and dangled his legs. Then looked up straight at her.
“What are you doing?” “Nothing. I came to school to pick you. Teacher said you already left. So I was walking home. What are you doing here?” “Nothing. Waiting for you. You shouldn’t wander alone.” “I am the adult here, kid.” “Okay, if you say so.”
And then he jumped from the ledge and held her hand.
He wasn’t like her. He didn’t need his mother as much she has needed hers. And as much she needed him.
But he needed something else, she realized. He needed mountains and the sun. He needed the water. He needed old wise men around him.
This cold world with manufactured mountains, blocked sun, artificial lakes and broken families was not enough for him. So he was creating his own.
Why? Because he took a lot of detours and his friends were too hungry to accompany him every day.
His mother worried when she saw him returning, later than all the other boys. She asked him why he was late. He said he walked slow. His mother worried.
So one day she walked to school and watched him leave.
She was curious. She had been a kid once. She had a world she lived in. When touching every railing, every wall on the way home was necessary, deciding which route to school she should take. There weren’t men she was afraid of. It was the dogs. She loved her white uniform. She was proud of being prefect. In school, obedience was the ultimate duty. Being a kid was nice.
He walked like her. With a skip and a hop. Like there was some jazz playing. He stopped to stare at flowers in the cracks of stone. And walls with drawings. He removed a pencil from his pencil box and drew a house. He loved drawing on walls. Her house was proof. The house was made with two windows and a door. Also, a mountain and a sun between them. Then he walked some more. Stopped near a puddle of water and pretended he was fishing. She laughed.
Then he went some more, stopped near a bunch of elderly vegetable vendors, smiled at them, took a free carrot and walked along. She was worried, the carrot was unwashed. Maybe he’d fall ill.
Then he sat down on a ledge and dangled his legs. Then looked up straight at her.
“What are you doing?” “Nothing. I came to school to pick you. Teacher said you already left. So I was walking home. What are you doing here?” “Nothing. Waiting for you. You shouldn’t wander alone.” “I am the adult here, kid.” “Okay, if you say so.”
And then he jumped from the ledge and held her hand.
He wasn’t like her. He didn’t need his mother as much she has needed hers. And as much she needed him.
But he needed something else, she realized. He needed mountains and the sun. He needed the water. He needed old wise men around him.
This cold world with manufactured mountains, blocked sun, artificial lakes and broken families was not enough for him. So he was creating his own.
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