The oath of allegiance: I'm with you

Life is a long, long road.

Here a baby is born, and mom picks up and carries him through the winding paths and roads are bright and he looks at the world from a strong, protecting embrace, and sees no danger, no fear, he calmly and mom is a magician, and he falls asleep from a light jiggle on the way, and my mother goes on and on.

And here he grows up, and wants to go himself, first awkwardly, hand in hand, mother leads him on a proven wide sidewalks, past the green parks and sandy areas, and he holds tightly by the hand, and comes to trust the hand, and the world is huge and wonderful.

And he's getting older, loosen the hand and runs, sometimes falls, sometimes the inexperience stumbles, and mom runs up, shakes off clothes, kissing a knee, glues, plaster, and when he never takes his hands and carries it, and he grabs your neck with your hands, and falls asleep in your arms as before, trusting that in the morning he'll Wake up in your bed.

And it becomes stronger and freer, and sometimes runs forward and is uncomfortable in front of the fences, sometimes keen and goes away from home, but mom is up there somewhere running and calling for dinner, put patches on jeans and gives a drink and a sandwich, and in the evening listens to other people about uncomfortable fences, stroking hair, and he goes further and bolder, because she will find, take by the hand, bring home.

And one day it runs to far off, alien, spiny forest, and suddenly solved and goes back and goes long, and the forest darker and more dangerous, but he was unable to return, he decided for himself that needs to go forward, and he hears mom is looking somewhere far, behind the trees, calling from, but he decides not to respond and not to return, decides that he himself, and stubbornly goes ahead, sometimes it gets and crying from fear, but it should prove that is not little, must go, and he goes on and on.

Sometimes she almost finds him, anxiously calling, requires, and if you let it – she'd take back, but you can't, you have to walk, because he's an adult and he can, and he leaves the dull, translucent glass wall to go to, and she has not to grab his hand and take me home, she knocks on that glass with his palms, pressed his face, trying to see him as he is, and he shouts, “go away!”, “go away!”, “I'll go!”, “I am!”.

And she shouldn't go. There, in the dark, alien, lonely forest, behind a solid, impenetrable wall along which he goes on and forward, he needs to hear her steps. Her knock. Distant, resistant “tuk-tuk-tuk”, which tells him that she's still there, she's always there, along his steps and his ways.

He comes out, be sure to come to the forest to turn into the trail and pathway clearing, and clearing – in the broad, bright road, and all along the road behind the wall, for every step will still be her “knock knock” “I'm here.”

One day he'll think she's alone in there, knocking, Yes knocking, come to the wall and answer the door, and one touch of the wall will fall, brick by brick, and behind that wall is young, restless, tired woman, who also struggled through the briars and fallen trees, one, contrary to the “go”, in spite of his confidence. She knew that he must himself, but she didn't. And he will say, “Yes mom, come on, I told you that everything will be fine”

Many years later, when he will go himself, with confidence and determination, one day he will realize that suddenly it was quiet. And the road is wide and bright and he knows where to go around familiar and safe – a familiar neighborhood, convenient sidewalk, at the hands of the kid, which from a height looks into the bright, wonderful world and falls asleep on the hand – but there is something. Gone is the echo, the distant, almost familiar knock the wall. No palms pressed to the glass, no one calling from deep in the forest by name, no one is looking.


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And then he'll swear that little, on hand, what it until you are out of pulse and breathing, he will always be there. For whatever wall is not gone is his child, no matter how shouting out about the fact that he himself – he will always be there. Will go, to crawl, to break and always to knock of the thick wall separating them, to always seek and call in the dense forest, always with his hand pressed against the muddy glass.

“Tuk-tuk-tuk”. I'm with you. published

Author: Olga Nechaeva



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