A Prompting - 5. Promise and Opportunity

"Can I talk to you?"

Those were the first words he spoke to me. They were not our first contact.

As spring days happen, it was to be the most spring like in recent memory. An early morning mist had dissipated leaving the sun to warm the air and greet the potent scent of white lilac. I planted the bushes in the small break between the sidewalk and the front of my townhouse, and for just such a day, it seemed, as I stood on my front stoop and breathed in the reward of them.

The day was a delight and I felt up to any task that could or would come along. I took pleasure in the short walk to the subway. My journey across the Charles River to the Cambridge side of it—where my office was located—was full of smiling faces . . . at least, that was my perception of the ride. All through the morning the pleasure I felt at the beginning of my day did not fade. I couldn't escape the feeling that today was a day of opportunity; everything was possible today and all that I had to do was to grab hold of it.

It wasn't just me. It seemed that every person at work felt some measure of happiness, some measure of excitement, and people were popping heads above partitions, inside office doors and into the break-room to say 'hello,' offer a smile or ask 'how are you, today.' A rapturous contagion had spread over the Boston, Cambridge area and I could not spend the entire day indoors. I skipped my regular lunch time to wrap up my day and I left only an hour later.

You would think that such a wondrous day would lead to a long, lazy afternoon lunch but waiting an hour left me immediately hungry. Since the offices were located in a building that housed a two-story galleria of shopping, it also included a food court with an outside terrace. The terrace space led, through a series of step-downs placed around the perimeter, to a lawn and then to a large lagoon with a fountain in the center. The placement of each set of steps defined a seating area of two or three tables between them and it was to one that I made my way after grabbing a bite to eat.

One of the allowances I make for myself occasionally, is having a big, juicy hamburger and include every available condiment slapped on between the patty and the bun. I keep a fork handy, just in case, and plenty of napkins. I unwrapped my sandwich and admired it.

A ball rolled across the patio and butted up against my shoes. It was one of those reddish-pink, rubber balls that are soft and bouncy and suitable for small children. I reached down and picked up the ball, and when I raised up with ball in hand, a young boy—cute as the dickens—who looked about four years old was standing beside me. I raised an eyebrow and he smiled and held out his hands.

"Sorry," he said. Having secured his toy, the boy ran down onto the lawn. I followed his progress and I was rewarded with a smile and a wave of thanks from a dark-haired man who appeared to be a few years younger than me.

I returned the wave. Then I dug-in to my sandwich and continued to watch the two interact with one another. It was fun to see them play and easy to see how it was the ball had managed to make its way on to the terrace. The boy didn't have complete control of his throw and often the ball would fly off in directions wholly unintended by him and need to be chased down. The man—his father, I assumed—would often as not be the chaser and if he wasn't actually throwing the ball back, he would pretend to kick the ball accidentally with a foot repeatedly until he was close enough to run quickly and tackle the boy to the ground and roll around with him.

I enjoyed watching them and hearing the squeals and laughter. Occasionally, I would spot the father looking over in my direction. At first I thought it no more than casual glances that anyone would make. That was, until he turned his head quickly away from me once when I looked up from my sandwich. He looked guilty with this embarrassed little smile planted on his face and I realized that I had truly caught him looking at me. The game of catch continued as I ate my sandwich and I found myself looking at my partially eaten hamburger and up again, far more than was necessary. I liked this game.

Soon enough, the sandwich was gone and I found it necessary to find the drink which I had failed to buy earlier. I had to make a decision. Should I leave my wrapper and rubbish on the table, perhaps indicating that I would return, or would I look like the slob who left his trash for someone else to pick up? Even though I was definitely returning, I felt the latter was the most likely impression I would leave behind and that was not how I wanted him to think of me.

Regardless of my intent to be speedy and a short line, some snafu behind the counter delayed me in getting my ice-tea and my also hoped for quick return to the terrace. The boy and his father were gone. I sat at the same table and gazed out toward the lawn and found that I missed my all too brief interaction with the boy and his father. A stray cloud drifted over the lawn and equally over my spirit then. The day had gone a little gray.

It is amazing how sometimes you just know a thing. That's why when a hand came to rest lightly on my shoulder, I knew just who it belonged to, and I wasn't startled by it. I smiled and turned around. I wasn't the only one who got thirsty; playing catch is thirsty work.

I traded the Boston townhouse in for a home and yard in the suburbs. The move wasn't nearly half as tragic as I supposed it would ever be. I had grown up in a small town, a village really, and it wasn't until I was grown before I moved to my first city. I fell in love then with the idea of living in a city and I didn't imagine that that would change. It didn't truly but my priorities did, my focus did, and that is why I was fussing around in the garage.

As spring days often are, mornings can be sunny before the clouds roll in and smother both the light and spirit. There had been a string of those kinds of days recently but this day was warm and promising. I am an early riser and it doesn't matter whether the day is a Saturday or not, and so it was with coffee in hand that I pulled dark blue, plastic lids off light blue, stacked plastic tubs. One such stack in the corner was higher than the others and it was necessary to tip the top tub to see inside. Unfortunately, I overbalanced it and rather than take the chance of sloshing hot coffee or breaking the mug in trying to prevent its fall, I let it crash onto its side. Things began to spill out and one of those things was an anemic, reddish-pink, rubber ball.

I smiled and looked out the open garage door, past the two cars in the drive, and remembered a day five years ago that was much like today . . . a day so full of promise and opportunity, and five words.