Always Someone Watching
In the village, there was always someone home and therefore always someone looking out. Not much went on that wasn't known. This made it hard for thieves and so few doors were ever locked. Dinnie Divanney locked his, but then he had found a rhinestone necklace washed up on the rocks that he swore was made of diamonds.
"God love him," chuckled Alvah Norris. "You can't say halfwit anymore, but if they were handing wits out, that boy could stand another helping."
Alvah and her best friend Margie Ott were having tea and looking out. Alvah's house had two stories. They liked to take their tea upstairs where they could see more.
"Speakin' of," Margie said, picking up her binoculars, "there's Little Mac."
Alvah topped up her cup. It was from her best china, that had been in her family for five generations. This particular cup was her favourite because it had a crack in the lip where her father had dropped it. In loving memory of him, she had developed a habit of touching the crack with her tongue when she sipped. She did that now and her mind wandered off.
"Oh," she said. "Him. Out in that nutshell of a boat again, is he? Should we call the coast guard?"
"No," said Margie. "He's just walking down the lane. But with a cane! No, two canes!"
"Mayhap he's forgetting how to walk now."
"Oh, you," Margie cackled, "you're terrible. Here, have a look."
***
Big Bertha was looking out too, in between making entries in the diary Little Mac had given her for Christmas. She would look out at Little Mac making his way up the lane toward the sea, and then she would make an entry, quickly so as not to lose sight of her man for too long.
"How can it be?" she wrote. "You just don't forget how to walk. You just don't!"
She gasped as he slipped on a patch of ice and stabbed at the air for a moment with one of the canes before catching himself and continuing on.
"You just don't!"
***
Little Mac looked out too, from a body that more and more seemed to belong to someone else. He looked out mostly at the ground ahead. The patch of ice had caught him by surprise.
"You! Lane!" he said with great authority. "You're not a minefield. Stop pretending."
Where does your balance go when you lose it, he thought. Is it hiding out somewhere with all the lost socks? Does God put it back in the jar and parcel it out again elsewhere? How can it be there one moment and not be there the next?
He could hear the surf pounding ahead. The sound was encouraging. He was almost to the sea. And he would make it back home. And his first trip this new way, it would be a success. And Big Bertha would smile. And when he saw that loving smile, that was like a safe harbour, none more safe in all the world, then he would be okay. Then whoever wanted his balance, they could have it.
He could get along.

28 January 2018
Texas Jim
Prospect, Nova Scotia
www.granitecoast.ca