At the Intersection of Life

At the intersection, I can go to the right and head straight home as I always do, or I can turn left where I have not gone for many a year. It would take me to a place that had many good memories. It was there where I went adventuring in the woods, seeing wild birds, even eagles, and where along with my elementary school friends, we would pretend that we were Robin Hood and his merry men. I was Little John, as I was the tallest of the group, and my name is John. However my good times ended there when I was a teenager in high school, and I swore never to return to a place where I had suffered greatly not once but twice. But if I thought rationally about how long ago that was, I would have no realistic worries about a repeat of those terrible times now.

As it was a Friday, I got off work an hour earlier than on the other days, so I had time to spare before enjoying dinner with my wife. My curiosity wanted me to see what might have changed in the woods, or whether it could still hold a fascination for me as a man in my forties.

The houses along the road looked pretty much as I remembered them, although some looked somewhat weathered by the years. And I made a point of not looking at ‘THAT HOUSE’ which was the scene of my worst memories.

Then I saw the woods. I swear that at that moment my heart beat faster. I started to run so to get there as quickly as I could. Although the woods did not look so wild as they did when I was young, I still could see birds and squirrels, several generations separated from the ones I so loved and considered to be almost my pets. My parents did not want me to have pets.

Then I saw the meeting place of Robin Hood and his merry men. It was located where there was a slight rise in the earth so we could look around and spot the purely imagined Sheriff of Nottingham approaching us.

I ran to it and sat where I usually did, and I almost swear that I heard the familiar voices of my youth talking to me.

I would definitely have to take our two boys here. They had heard the stories. Now they could see where the stories came from. I do suspect that there might be a few loud ‘oh dad!’ remarks, but that will not bother me --- much!

He Leaves the Forest and Heads Towards a Place He Once Considered Dangerous

Now for the hard part! I am going to to walk past HIS PLACE! I know that it is foolish to fear someone who beat me up several nasty times when I was just a child, and once as a teenager. He probably did not still live there anymore, not like me inheriting a house from my parents, who moved into a seniors apartment complex. He probably moved out of his childhood home once he became an adult. But you never know. Still, he might not recognize me, nor readily remember our history of him beating me up.

As I walked down the sidewalk on that side of the street I noticed that a man was riding on a wheelchair rather rapidly down a slanted driveway to get to the sidewalk. He was travelling so fast that he crossed over the sidewalk and crashed over the curb, landing on the road with his wheelchair lying sideways beside him on the pavement.

I ran over to where he was, first straightening up his wheelchair, which still looked functional and then lifting him up and placing him as gently as I could into his vehicle.

Once I saw him clearly, I realized that it was Francis, the oppressor of my younger years. But it did not seem like he recognized me.

Seeing that he was bleeding from the side of his head, and one of his arms looked like it was possibly broken, I said to him, “I will push you to the walk-in clinic at the intersection. I don’t think you should handle that on your own.”

I received a ‘thank you good sir’ blurred from the wound on his mouth. I deduced from those words that he still had no idea who I was. I replied with a ‘No problem, I’m going that way anyway.” He awkwardly smiled at my weak attempt at humour.

It did not take me long to get him to the walk-in clinic. We did not share a word, just moved quietly with only the creaking of wheels, until we reached our eventual destination. When one of the doctors saw us come in, he quickly realized the severity of the wounds on Francis’ right arm and on the side of his head. I told the doctor about what happened. He replied by saying ‘He is a very lucky fellow that you were there to get him here. He could not have made his way here by himself. Are you a family member or a friend?”

“I’m not either, but I spotted his accident and could not leave him without helping him get to your clinic.”

Then I noticed that Francis began starring at me. At first I thought that he might be barely conscious, but that was not the cause of the stare. “I just realized who you are. You’re the John that I beat up when we were both teenagers, and I was the neighbourhood bully. I guess that you did not recognize me”.

I wanted to lie and say that I did not, but knew that such would be lying.

“I recognized you rather quickly. I must admit that I did rather fear seeing you on my walk to the woods and back, remembering so clearly how you used to beat me up. But that was foolish, and I am very glad we met, and that I got to help you.”

“I wanted to show how tough I was by beating up the tallest boy in school. And I always thought you were strange, Little John, but now I have learned that you are ‘good strange’, and I appreciate that.”

We became friends, and I often walked to his place, and took him for a wheelchair ride to the coffee shop.