By the Letter – 6 –
The bus navigated its way through narrow streets out to the
When she entered the path this day from the top of the Jerbourg parking lot, she wasn’t alone. She didn’t lead and she didn’t follow; the stairs down to the Jerbourg point had no end or beginning. Deirdre felt pleased.
She felt like she had her family with her, without any strings attached. They wanted to be near her. Yet she thought, “Why haven’t I always felt like this?”
Climbing the steep last steps up from
Unlike yesterday when she stretched herself, today she took her time. Her previous experiences on the path were like pieces of a puzzle spread out before her, and she was starting to put them back in place again, but perhaps not exactly as they had fit together before. The book had revealed something to her last night: all those strange feelings about her family didn’t come from outside her; no, instead they came from inside and had even been there all the time without her knowing it.
Being alone on the path had narrowed her thoughts to herself, her alone, without any other distractions, without work, home, children, husband. The missing pieces of the puzzle had been herself; she was walking the path putting herself back whole again. She hadn’t been aware of her previous condition; she’d been neglecting herself, not allowing herself the space to take her time. Instead her children, her husband—all those other things she felt more vital back then than herself—had filled the vacuum. Not that she wanted it to be that way, it had just happened.
That vacuum Deirdre now, piece by piece, started to fill with her self, the pieces of her own puzzle, and each one of them felt like joy. These were strange pieces, as they didn’t claim any parts of her. Instead she embedded her joy in her children, in her husband. The difference was that instead of them coming at her, she now allowed them to come as they fit her, the real her.
Among the many strange things that had happened yesterday, one was that Deirdre had found herself observing her family and her friend interacting. The book that evening had described the path as if it were following from behind, as if all the spring flowers bordering the path as she walked were coming closer. But didn’t her family come up from behind yesterday? Wasn’t it them seeking contact with her?
As the path bent, Deirdre looked back, slowing her walk for a while. She had left no pieces of her puzzle behind, she had brought them all with her. Like yesterday when her friend was interacting with her family, Deirdre today was interacting with the path she walked. Could it be that on her first days out on the path she was spreading pieces, like offloading all the “musts” she had to do, or rather thought she had to do? Were there any “musts” really?
Walking slowly now, she examined all the pieces she picked up carefully, and none was demanding. She felt like her family wanted her anyway, not all the day-to-day work, but her, they wanted to feel her, their mother and wife. Could it be that they too had been searching, and when they met her friend their search had come to an end?
At the restaurant Deirdre ordered a large cappuccino to have outside in spite of the wind. As she turned while holding her tray to get a seat, the top of the cappuccino immediately blew away. She watched it float along the ground without regret.
She had spent longer on that first bit of the path up to the restaurant than before, even though it felt like she’s appeared there quite suddenly. She was more at peace with her self today, and her friend didn’t say much; it wasn’t needed.
This time Deirdre and her friend left the restaurant as equals, with Deirdre’s husband and children following closely, curiously. Unconsciously, Deirdre had grown in confidence out walking by herself. The book had described the sights and she had been paying attention to them, but she didn’t walk the path like that anymore.
Deirdre and her family left her friend at the same place as before. Almost in an instant she felt her family’s respect for her friend transfer to her, and it was a curious feeling.
At one point, with the path bordered by flowers before a turn, was a bench with a view. The wind was calming, and Deirdre remained there for a while looking far out over the sea. She saw nothing and everything, and it was with a new insight she continued her walk back to town.
Deirdre didn’t hurry that last bit of the path—she didn’t need to—the path now was adapting to her instead of the other way around.
This was her sixth day on the path since her arrival, and the time felt gone with the wind. She had yet another whole day to spend, and on Sunday she was heading for home again.
Deirdre thought about that for a while when she left the path to walk the road to town. How would she feel at home? She smiled—why, she wasn’t quite sure. There was something that had happened this day, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Perhaps the book… oh yes, the book. Now Deirdre came to think of the book, which she hadn’t done during her whole walk this day. One of the first things she did when she entered her apartment, after taking off her shoes and jacket, was opening the book.
When she turned the pages back from her bookmark at the sixth day of her walk, all pages were blank: no text, no nothing. She flipped pages back and forth bewildered. She wasn’t scared, but it took her some time to let it all sink in. Was the book telling her something by this? Was she finished with those first days of her walk? Could it be that she had brought all the scattered pieces of her puzzle with her until today, and now she was leaving nothing behind?
Deirdre smiled gently to herself. “What then for the future, my last day on the path?” she thought.
