I
The little girl was born along the bank of the River in a little shack filled with people she believed were loving and caring. When she was old enough to crawl, she would scuttle out to the muddy bank rolling about it in glee, putting gobby fistfuls of delicious mud into her mouth in baby delight. Someone would come running out to pick her up, “No, no, don’t do that…that’s yucky.”
II
When the little girl learned to walk, toddling out in her tiny white dress with the tiny white bows on her tiny little shoulders, she toddled to the River to dip her tiny toes into the cool water and to splash the muddy goodness all over herself. Someone would come running out to pick her up and say, “Don’t dirty the pretty dress we made for you with such care… don’t splash and dirty your pretty face.”
III
When she could outrun everyone in what once had been a shack but was now a modest house, she ran to the edge of the River, ready to jump in and wade across the shallow water on the six flagstones that separated her from the opposite bank. Someone came running after her shouting “Stay away from the edge! You may fall and hurt your head, bleeding till no one can stanch it. Or you may fall in and drown till you cannot breathe. Or you may get across and meet someone bad, meeting a fate worse than death, that would forever keep you from us.”
Now, she did not know what it was to bleed or to drown for she had never bled or drowned, but it did not sound like fun. And though she was happy to always entertain herself in the modest house full of Someones she thought were loving and caring people, she saw the fear in their faces, a fear of never seeing her again. So gingerly — reluctantly — she moved back from the edge of the River. But she knew when she was ready the other side was only six flagstones away.
And thus she stayed for many years.
IV
When she was old enough to travel away from her home she found a friend who would walk with her along the River to somewhere they could build their own shack. She just knew with his help they could cross the River together, and make a home like the one she had left. The River was narrow and still as they walked, the water clear and filled with the glory of life teeming just under the surface.
SPLASH! A push? She found herself suddenly below the clear water, the life under the surface no longer safe. She tried to get up feeling a weight on her head. No one would want to hurt her she thought, but Someone was not here to help. In the next moment, she stopped breathing. She saw the bubbles of her wishes rising slowly to the surface as she collapsed under the weight on her head. Then suddenly…here was her friend in the water with her, making funny faces and teasing her to stand up and walk back to the edge of the River.
“What happened?” he said. “Did you fall in? Could you not see in the dark?”
The dark? she thought to herself. “It is midday”, she said.
Her friend laughed at her confusion. “Midday? You can see it is Midnight!”
Having no one around to witness the light of day she was sure she saw she convinced herself that it was indeed Midnight, the push-fall and the breathlessness having caused her to imagine otherwise.
V
They walked together for many years, not once stopping to rest or build a modest house nor even a shack. The River, which had been smooth and still and narrow at the beginning of their travel, became wild and uncontrolled. The waters would rise, splashing them in smokestacks of spray and frightening her. Sometimes one or the other would slip on the grassy bank, just barely pulling themselves to safety, as the other walked on carelessly. They did not know how tired, or hungry, or bleeding each was, nor the other.
VI
Years passed, and the girl was no longer young. Her friend would disappear for long days, sometimes passing ahead, sometimes falling behind. When he saw her from afar he was jealous of her well-fed roundness. When she saw him from afar she envied his easy stride. But when they were near, walking side by side, they never saw each other at all. Then one day she saw her friend step into the River and disappear. Much as she strained her eyes to make him out across the water she could not see a thing past the raging torrent.
“I am sure he is across the River, building a shack for me”, she told herself. How unhappy it made her to think that he had crossed the River first, before her.
VII
The girl who was not young anymore walked alone for many years along the raging bank of the River. Sometimes she stepped on the sharp rocks that cut her feet to red ribbons. Sometimes she slipped on the slime of the smoothest rocks which sent her hurtling downward, hitting her head on the very same rocks, leaving her breathless in the reddened water. Sometimes she fell into the water and forgot how to breathe, rising only in panic when she breathed in foul water instead of empty air.
“Someone was right”, she said to the River. “You are dirty, dangerous and unpredictable. And no doubt to cross you is to meet a fate worse than death.” Though she did not know what fate was nor what death was either. Because she came to believe this, she scuttled away all the little creatures who came to dip their tiny toes in the River, and roll joyfully around in the muddy bank, believing she was keeping them safe like a loving and caring person would.
VIII
The girl who was no longer young grew tired and along the bank of the River that she no longer wished to cross she fell asleep. She slept for many years. She slept as the sun rose and set. She slept as the moon waxed and waned. She slept as the seasons came and went with the regularity of seasons. And the woman slept on, growing rounder and leaner, taller and shorter, fairer and darker. She slept until she no longer heard the thundering of the River.
IX
The girl who had long been a woman awoke to the quietness of the River that was wider than her eyes could read. She stretched to the beauty of the day, remembered not a thing of wanting to cross the River since she had been a crawling baby. She did see all around her though: babies and children, young girls with friends, someones old and young, all needing Someones of their own. So she picked the berries from the bushes and the fruits from the trees that she knew to be safe along the Riverbank and shared them with everyone who was hungry. When their feet bled on the rocks she bandaged them. When their heads bled from slipping she bandaged these, too. She stretched out a hand when they went under the clear wide water, falling in or getting pushed. And when they forgot to breathe, she brought them clean air, full of life. She stopped looking with longing at the wide River that she would never be able to cross. She stopped longing for a modest house, or even a shack, that would be her very own. She ate when she was hungry and she rested when she tired. And she finally knew the difference between midday and midnight. She sang the songs she had heard from the River, which she did not even know she knew. All around her many someones slept with ease. She told the stories she had learned from the River walking alone for many years and it passed the time for those who thought they walked alone along the River with her. And the woman who was no longer young thanked the people who walked with her and thanked the River for showing her the way.
X
Many years passed, and the woman who was no longer young stooped one day to wash her dusty face and bathe her tired feet in the water of the River. Three flagstones met her gaze, flat and much safer than Someone’s arms. She looked up at the opposite bank, fingertips away, embracing her. The River had become her friend. She walked across, thankful for each of the three steps.
And the woman saw the vast ocean she had yet to cross, at peace with the journey about to begin.
An End…A new Beginning.
