Before I round
the corner
I hear her.
Silver K-Mart
canvas shoes
(Two for $5.00)
hitting the hallway
vinyl floor.
The rapid tapping
of her feet
almost match
the cadence of
a marching
band.
She whips around the
corner of the hall,
nodding to people
she knows as she passes.
But her eyes remain
straight ahead
watching for
any obstacles in
her way.
Her wheelchair
flies by me,
feet going,
but she is serenely
nestled in her
chair,
not unlike
a duck
who appears to
glide across
the lake
with nary a ripple,
but is paddling
furiously
underneath
the water.
Mom, I yell out,
Where are you going?
Her feet hit the floor
and she stops short,
pivoting so she sees me.
Her bright yellow
dress and pure white
hair undisturbed
by the whirlwind
trip through the
hall.
She smiles at me.
But what I remember
most of all
about this day
long ago
is the sound
of her
paddling
feet.
It remains my own
cadence,
as I now march through
life without her.
Maxine Valunas is a retired registered nurse. She belongs to the Works in Progress Writing group, which meets in Highland Park.
