Common Ground

Sandals slapping the street, Mom's voice slipped away with each slap. The rest of the family trailed behind as I walked ahead in The Common. I brushed away oak leaves with my summer-tanned-toes, all pretty-in-pink, searching for the perfect acorn. I picked up three, held an on-the-spot acorn audition, and pocketed the winner. Bending down, I let go of the other two, re-uniting them with leaf and city street.
Slap, slap, slap.
* * *
Together, he and I are in the park; walking past children climbing about Ducklings and running through fountains. Swan boats drift under willow branches. There is comfort in the ease of each other. Comfort in our cadence. Unity in stride and thought. And no memory of life before Saturday strolls and the everyday side-by-side. Tomorrow. Yesterday. The Past. The Present. The Future. Lives folded into one; wrapped up, like our hands. Clasped. Hoping. Happy.
* * *
That night, on the 18th floor of a rented room, I took in the Charles at night. My sister sweetly snoozing next to me, I stepped out of bed, feeling the cold air as the cooler pushed it about the room. Inching closer and closer to the floor-to-ceiling windows, I took a deep breath. I can do this. I stood on my tip-toes and slowly lowered my forehead down until it touched the glass. I extended my arms out, like a bird preparing for flight. The Hancock Tower stretched high into the night sky. I was lost in the midnight blue-hue of the late hour. The River, The Hancock and the sky. Dark. Sheeny. Reflective. Cars crossed the Longfellow and traversed the Turnpike, blinking below. Stars twinkled in the blue above, and lights lined the masts of idle-for-the-night boats along the river. I imagined the lap-lap-lap sound of the water hitting up against them. I stepped back from the glass and flattened my feet on the floor. A circular forehead print left evidence of my midnight meditating.
Lap, lap, lap.
* * *
I pull that acorn out sometimes. It's by far the biggest in my collection; definitely the most green. I love that such a small thing holds so much promise - a towering tree with a trunk big enough for five children to encircle, hand in hand. Branches to cradle the sky. Leaves to shelter and crunch under foot. And acorns. Hundreds of acorns, each a representation of the past, the present and the future; of hope and happiness.