Barely
aware of why, I knew intuitively long solitary walks nourished me greatly; a
walk was exactly what I needed on that particular Summer’s eve.
And what
an evening it was; one of those which so often arrives unbidden in a mid-west
Summer – suffused with warm humid air, filled with an abundance of scents, sights
and sounds, alluring and irresistible. Distant places seemed all the more
attractive in anticipation of transformed surroundings – ordinary and familiar
by day, special and mysterious at night.
My
sojourn, longer than originally anticipated, extended in response to the
evening’s call to what lay a block or two, or a mile further. Though very young
my ability to go places and distances, which ordinarily would be dangerously
far for a child, was certain. I never thought about getting lost; that was something
I never knew in our still-new edge of the city. I was completely confident that
wherever the point, when I arrived, I would know that it was time to turn
around and head home – by a different path.
Some
upscale neighborhoods, a good distance from ours, were still adorned with older
gas street lamps. Those wondrously stately, softly glowing sentinels did
not overwhelm the lazy pulses from countless fireflies. The glow from both
seemed eerily similar – a soft yellow green that perfectly illumined the subdued
yellows and dark greens of flowers, shrubs and trees slumbering quietly in
moist evening air.
I passed
seemingly endless blocks of fine homes (much statelier than ours) which
awakened my imagination: what would it be like to live in one of these beautiful
places! The soft light suffusing their windows drew me onward. Were there
ones just ahead more beautiful than the last? How could people afford
such places? I was enthralled by occasional glimpses of fine, elegant,
interiors.
My
fantasies faded to reality. I had indeed gone some distance; it was time
to start back. I decided on a different way home, one which I knew would
take me by more of these wondrous places. The reverse path, as it often
did, seemed to take much less time than the one going out. Time even then
seemed capricious. While puzzling over this, I hadn’t thought about the
hour or what (more exactly who) awaited at home.
The final
half-block was along the rutted dirt path that intersected our street. Still
enthralled by the evening’s sojourn, I hadn’t noticed the auto (or my mother)
at the curb in front of our home.
With the
same exuberance that suffused my heading out on the evening’s journey, I
approached the car. Initially mistaking the driver as a family relative, I
failed to notice that the auto was a distinctive two-toned black and
white. Breaking into a brisk and chatty greeting to the driver, I
suddenly froze mid-word – which gave the officer, and my mother, the
opportunity to drill me in a decidedly unfriendly manner as to where I had
been.
In a
moment of terrifying awareness, I tore off toward the house – scarcely
bothering to open doors in pursuit of the safest place imaginable: my bed, and
as far under it as I could get. No memory remains of emerging from my
protective lair.
--------------------------------------
Countless
millennia past many an adult-child wandered outside the tribal camp, exploring
the riches which spread beyond the immediate home site. They saw wondrous,
often dangerous, creatures – animate and inanimate. A world of wonder,
excitement, the unknown. But they knew how and when to return safely to the
home site. Returning they’d be greeted with excitement by their tribes-persons,
and relate what had been seen and learned.
Ultimately
our ancestors traveled across many lands, leaving behind not only their tribal
camp but their primordial childhood.
As we
travel from child to adult, primordial childhood is submerged beneath millennia
of civilization – careful, cautious, afraid of the unknown, reluctant to
explore what lay beyond.
Yet at
odd moments, the primordial memories arise unexpectedly. And for a few brief,
aching moments, we remember. We remember.
-
RJ Christopher
