A Summer Walk

We decided to spend an afternoon walking. My youngest brother, MA, and I left the house together with a happy labradoodle at our side. I carried a letter because our nominal goal was to take the letter to the post-office, but honestly, we just wanted the time and space that the calm summer day offered us.

We walked a couple blocks singing bits of songs, everything from Justin Bieber to The Sound of Music. Then we talked about everything under the sun.

"I know a girl who likes me."

"Oh really? I knew a boy who liked me."

"Oh," he said and kept on walking, then in the same semi-serious tone, "Do you think I should buy a slushie or a candy?"

After two miles, we reached the post-office, passed under coffee-colored walls, and stepped on all the uneven stones. We spent a couple minutes trying to understand how to get my letter into the rather menacing blue postal box. Postal boxes are not as intuitive as one would think. Not at all. We celebrated our victory with slushies and bionicos and sat down under a small patch of shade, waving at the passing traffic.

On the way back, we took frequent stops on helpful green benches, both for his sake and mine. We also stopped at every house that had a dog. One of the dogs we passed had such a loud, deep bark that we flattened our hands and held them out in front of us to catch the sound vibrations. The barks sent tingles through our fingers.

He slipped his hand into mine whenever we crossed streets. He immediately withdrew it once we reached the safe sidewalk, but that small, almost unconscious movement of trust made me treasure that walk, this memory, as something I hope to never forget.