Want to race

I had to go to the library recently. From the corner of my eye I saw an old man get out of his truck and shift all his joints into position, just as I was doing on getting out of my car. Neither of us crossed the drive with speed or grace, I know, and as we each settled at the end of the walk for the remaining journey to the front door he looked at me and said “Want to race?”

It was so incongruous I began to laugh in place, which threw me slightly off balance and I staggered a little toward my sidewalk mate. He braced, staggered, reached for my shoulder. I grasped his arm.  We shifted, hanging onto bits of each other until equilibrium was achieved.

A man approaching us prepared to give us a wide berth, assuming, I suppose, he was witnessing a very elderly public display of affection. “Young man, untangle us!” my fellow supporter demanded. Order was restored, and we didn't even need to resume the race, as the grandchildren I was there to pick up emerged from the library doors.

Lesson: take the damn cane, even for a short trip.