THWARTED!
It is 7:30 AM and I am puffing my way up the last of 43 ßsteep concrete steps. But a thick, heavy rope now bars my way to the plaza just beyond. And there
I stand, confused, a voice inside me saying: “Go back down and take the escalator.”
I stand, confused, a voice inside me saying: “Go back down and take the escalator.”
RESCUED!
But there is another voice, the voice of a young man. “Duck under,” he says, as he raises the rope as high as he can, an inch ABOVE WHERE IT WAS, maybe.
DELIGHTED!
And as I STRAIGHTEN UP MY CRACKING BONES, continuing on my journey to work, I am smiling. Maybe later I will be angry at the idiots who put the rope at
the top of the steps and not the bottom. But for now I am tickled that a man sounding as young as him could look at a woman as old as I feel, and imagine
ducking under as a possibility.
the top of the steps and not the bottom. But for now I am tickled that a man sounding as young as him could look at a woman as old as I feel, and imagine
ducking under as a possibility.
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