the path less

APRIL 14, 1997

                There’s a path behind both of our houses, and it’s one of our favorites. Sometimes, we just like to walk along it, and I swear there’s nothing better. She points out all of the little things, pulling me along and never letting go of my hand. I wonder what it feels like to be excited by the same moss on the same tree each time I see it, but I don’t think I can truly understand because I will never truly be able to see through her eyes.

                Margot is the name of the little girl who is my neighbor. Her parents both work ten hour shifts each day to pay for the house and the tuition for her brothers’ college. It isn’t fair to her because she is just as special as they are, even if she was born a little bit later and little bit less planned.

They trust me to babysit her every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after she comes home from preschool, and each day she tells me with the enthusiasm only a four-year-old can have about the games they played or the letters they learned.

We like to take walks on days neither of us is too tired, and sometimes we pack a sandwich for dinner and simply stay outside and explore. Our favorite game is I spy, and I think that she will grow up to be a brilliant scientist or something, because she is a child prodigy. I know I might be prejudiced, but sometimes I truly cannot see a single flaw in this beautiful child.

NOVEMBER 17, 2000

                There’s a path behind both of our houses, but sometimes it’s simply too cold to walk along it. Weather here in Wisconsin plays quite a part in our lives, because the winters can be quite brutal.

                Third grade has made Margot a little bit different, but I suppose we always knew that nothing can last the trials of time without an ounce of change. She has more homework than we’re used to, but it’s nothing we can’t figure out if we sit down and think about it.             Occasionally I ask her to walk along the path with me, and she is always up for an adventure. But the moss on the trees is less exciting than the squirrels that scamper quickly up so high it appears they’ve entered a new universe.

She still holds my hand, because you never can tell when a root might jump out and try to trip us, and she trusts me to keep her safe, like her parents trust me to watch her more often.

OCTOBER 17, 2006

                There’s a path behind both of our houses, but we only go when the day is warm enough.

                Seventh grade is kind of tough on Margot. She comes over each day after school because there are so many trials of middle school that I simply did not know about. It makes me happy that she wants to share her life with me, and I hope each day that she will always have something good to add to her tales of woe. She always seems to find a little bit of sunshine because she hates to see me frown.

                Little does she know that she is my sunshine.

JUNE 4, 2009

                There’s a path behind both of our houses, but with freshman year coming to a close, we haven’t found time to walk on it in quite some time. Margot has so much to do, she’s part of six different clubs that she’s told me about, and I just don’t know how she does it.

                Every other Thursday seems like a small amount of time to get to spend with Margot, but I don’t know how I could ever judge the time we have together, it’s too precious.

FEBRUARY 16, 2010

                There’s a path behind both of our houses, and sometimes Margot asks if she can go there alone. She always pleads with me to wait for her, but I’m not sure why. She knows that I would wait a millennium if it meant I got to spend precious time with her.

                She doesn’t ever talk about her family, and I haven’t heard much about her friends from last year, but it seems she’s found someone more worth her time—a boy. I fear she is spending too much time with him, since she can only come one or two Thursdays a month, and she doesn’t spend as much time with friends, but I have never been one to meddle, I’m more of a passive listener.

               

SEPTEMBER 8, 2011

                There’s a path behind both of our houses, but with my move I haven’t been able to get there in quite some time.

                It’s the beginning of Margot’s senior year, but I haven’t heard anything from her about college. She never has been the planning type though, and I know that her advisors and everyone at school will help her more than I can, so I try not to worry.

I hope she enjoys her visits with me, I know it’s tougher with me in a farther location than a five minute walk. I love when she comes to talk to me, but she doesn’t smile as easily as she used to. I have to crack a lot of jokes to even get an acknowledgement. She stares off into space quite often, and I wonder what she is thinking. I hope she’s okay, but she never tells me what’s wrong, and I can’t see her as often as I’d like, what with her being so busy and me being stuck with no transportation.

MAY 17, 2012

                There’s a path behind both of our houses, and I am walking along it today. It’s the day of Margot’s graduation, and I grip the piece of paper and pencil, gritting my teeth through the arthritis and walking to our bench.

                I don’t know what to write, but all of a sudden I feel a raindrop slide gently down my cheek. Suddenly the words start to flow and I realize the rain is coming from my eyes. I don’t know how I will get the words out, but I know that for Margot’s sake, I have to write.

Something is resting on my bed, and it hurts to realize I didn’t see it coming. The warning signs were evident when she said premature goodbyes and gave all her possessions away, and  I wonder with numbness why she didn’t think I would protect her. I wish only to hold her hand one more time and protect her from the roots that nudged their way into her brain. A life given up is no guarantee for eternal salvation.

She’s gone but it’s not the way she should have left.

Because today is her graduation and I’m writing a eulogy instead of a congratulatory speech.