Inheritance part one
Fiction: Walking with my father.
He set out as the day dimmed. Louis Ridley had taken this path time and time again, yet each occasion felt just as it had on that first day. Wonder, mystery, and that little spark of fear, just to keep the beauty at its freshest; all were the ingredients of the road less travelled.
Each step was another stretch forward, towards a goal of aimlessness: to forget himself and everything. The march of beautiful ignorance was something to be treasured, for reasons so numerous they would blot out the sun. Yet, the sun dared not fall into step with him, for this was not it’s world. No, the daylight brought with it problems tenfold, tedious and turbulent in nature. Instead, nature fused with the darkness on the stony path: the night made him a free man.
As a child, Louis would sometimes question the point of such sojourning, as his father would insist that he join him on what he called his ‘midnight stroll’. Looking back, perhaps a child his age should have been tucked up in bed instead of adventuring into the dusk, but he certainly did not regret it. The morning may have come early for school and routine, but those nights were something precious; they offered liberty and peace in a way in which nothing else could for Louis: they offered him himself.
Yes, it was his dad who had introduced the moonlit walks to him. Once a month, at least, since he was a 10 year old boy, Martin Ridley would rap on his bedroom door four times, and leave Louis his walking boots just outside the room, beckoning him to follow. “Come on son, the night is calling us”, he would say. It was something Louis never questioned. Once they crept out of the cottage, careful not to wake up the rest of the family, he would never look back. This was a time for reflection: his dad would tell him that he should only look inside. At first, he did not quite understand the meaning of those words, but now they rang true.
The walk itself was beautiful in its blankness. Draped only in the dark, the dirt path sneaked through a forest that huddled away from the moon. That it was rather unspectacular was its perfection: offering no distraction or excitement, it was an exciting distraction from the day in its honesty. The ivy crawling and sprawling down the oak trunks was normal. The occasional hooting of the watchful owl was normal. The normality of nature offered a break from the normality of reality: a daily routine of life and work and school that often presented pain and predicament. This was Martin Ridley’s escape from his busy day, and it was his gift to his son: his inheritance.
For as long as he had lived at home, this walk had been good to Louis. When things got tough, when he was upset or uncertain, his father would simply rap on his door once, twice, three times and four, repeat his favourite phrase, and then they would answer the call of the night. More often than not, the night answered his call, and Louis was able to put things into perspective, putting one foot in front of another in blissful self-awareness. Awareness, at the same time, of how small he was in the grand scheme of the world, and yet how he could potentially make a huge imprint on other people’s individual worlds.
While the path was winding and narrow, the pair would never get lost. Whilst taking the occasional wrong turn, they would never lose themselves, for they had each other. They had no destination, yet would always end up in the same spot: the old churchyard close by, where Martin would take his son to see the grave of his father. It meant a lot to him. Whilst this would always move his dad, Louis never questioned or interrupted his father’s thoughts on the walk home. He was able to recognise from an early age the space an individual sometimes needs.
By: Jonny Guckian
Your Comments
There are no comments for this article yet, please leave one!
Login to leave a comment on this article
Login | Sign Up