Escape

Walking home a few days ago I passed a group of children playing. One of the smallest was impetuously issued orders to the others who stood about listlessly, not ignoring but not listening either. Suddenly without warning one broke from the pack. Pumping legs carried her on a pink bike, away from the gaping onlookers.

The little tyrant began howling and stomping incoherently, demanding the other’s return. But the old spell was broken now, by the hum of rubber on the road and that first wild taste of freedom.

Of course she would return later. These were her friends and this was her home but as the training wheels rattled away, I wanted to shout triumphantly. I wanted to tell her not to follow the rules and to ignore convention. I wanted to confess that escape could be a scary and lonely place but that this feeling of living would be worth it. I wanted to yell that this road stretched on farther than she could ever know and that there was so much to see along the way.

Instead I smiled to myself and continued on my own path. I don’t think she needed to be told.