The man was 30 going on 60. Tired, unhappy, angry. He could not remember the last time he felt ok. If you were to ask him today about those years he would tell you he was in a heavy dark fog.
He lived in a small apartment on the 3rd floor of a building with no air conditioning. On a night like this, with the heat, it was unbearable.
On this night, as he walked in the door the one thing that made everything make sense was waiting for him. His almost 3 year old son. He was a brilliant young boy, spoke fluently, built things, shot pucks, and kept the lights on for his struggling young parents.
A month before the man insisted on buying the best tricycle available for his son. He had worked in a bike shop as a teen, and knew where to acquire it. That night the man and his son made a plan. A long distance trek, in actuality maybe only about half a mile, was planned. For a young child who could barely reach the pedals on his trike, this was an odyssey.
The two set off. They were patient with each other as they navigated out of the parking lot. By the time they crested the hill halfway to the destination the man’s anger was gone. The depression was gone. There was only innocent questions, jaded answers, and laughter. The second half of the trip was downhill and the man can still tell you every detail of his son’s face as he coasted down the hill. Light brown hair waving in the wind, wide smile, sparkling bright blue eyes, cheeks dimpled, fearlessly laughing with abandon.
The man was happy. Purely, truly, completely happy. He was exactly where he was meant to be.
The destination was Wendys. The reward was a frosty. But the gift was a memory that sustains the now older man. It fills up his heart as much today as it did that muggy summer night.
If you read this far, thank you.
Tris.
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