The sun shone from a blue sky, the birds sang and the ground
was firm beneath our feet. Confidently,
our arms around each other we began our journey. I told you that it would be easy because it’s
us and there’s nothing we can’t cope with.
You believed me and stepped forward full of hope.
You complained when it started to rain, but I reassured you
it was just a shower. It kept coming though. You set your mouth in a firm line and carried
on quietly. I told you how much I admired
your stoicism and my praise helped you continue. We decided it would be easier just to hold
hands and carry our luggage which was starting to feel a bit heavy.
After the rain cleared, we found ourselves in a different
place. The way ahead was flat, the ground
boggy and the sky grey. No birds sang
and there was nothing to look at. Every
day was the same. I became tired of it
and complained. You sympathised and
would listen to me saying the same things over and over each day with great
patience. I recall now that you never
told me how you were feeling; I guess I didn’t give you the chance. Sometimes we’d go for days without holding
hands. It was on one of these days that
the fog came down and I lost sight of you.
I was furious, how could you leave me to carry
everything? Somehow our baggage had
increased. I think it was something to
do with the heavy days of dragging through the mud, we seemed to have more
equipment, but it was a burden rather than a help. I shouted your name, but couldn’t see you
anywhere. I became scared, especially
when a sudden gust of wind blew the fog apart and for one second I thought I
saw you. You were not alone out
there. You were walking with someone
else, arms round each other like we used to.
The mist closed in again before I could make a positive
identification and I carried on down the road until I found you, waiting for me
at a junction, your eyes red from crying.
We walked on in silence, sharing the load again, but you weren’t as
talkative as you used to be. I got the
impression you resented something.
We’ve reached the bottom of the hill now and we can’t see
the top of it. For the first time we have
stopped, uncertain of our way. I’ve
consulted the map, we have to climb. I
remember the time I told you what a lovely journey we’d have together. What a lie.
You glare at me and turn your back, leading the way up, I can’t see your
face, but I can guess it has that grim little expression you’ve been wearing
for days. God I’m sick of it. I carry on after you sullenly, wondering what
the point of this is - a silent journey, up an endless hill with no end in
sight.
