A WALK INTO DARKNESS

A WALK IN THE DARKNESS

The darkness entered the park gates with me. I let the dog loose and
followed. Twenty yards in, the path forked at a small copse, I kept to
the left and a movement in the copse caught my attention. In the
shadows under the hanging branches, I perceived a youngster, head
bowed, head in hands sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree. Continuing
along the path a little further I could not help but stop and turn to
look back, the youngster troubled me; the figure had looked so
dejected. I walked back to a position where I could watch the seated
figure. In the slow seeping darkness I could not be sure if it was a
boy or a girl. Slowly, so as not to startle who ever it was, I
proceeded down the slight incline to stand in front of the
person.

"Are you all right," I enquired.

The head came slowly up. "Yes I'm fine." It was a young boy.

"You sure."

"Yes," he said the words without enthusiasm or conviction.

"Look," I squatted to be level, "you can tell me to go and I will. But
I can't see your face and you can't see mine. I don't know you and you
don't know me, so it doesn't matter what you tell me. We will probably
never meet again, and if we did we wouldn't recognise each other. So
why not talk to me."

For a moment he was silent, then with out looking up from the ground he
said, "It's my girl friend."

Quietly I enquired, "Has she dropped you?"

"No," he replied looking up at me for the first time. "She's going away
to university in a couple of weeks."

"And your not."
"Yes!" This time is voice was sharp, then it returned to its former
tone, "But to a different college. We wont see each other for ages, her
parents say it will be good for both of us to meet other people." Once
more, with elbows on his knees he placed his head in his hands.

"Do you mind if I sit down," I asked, and saw is shoulders shrug as he
answered.

"No, help yourself."

Before sitting on the ground, I whistled to let the dog know where I
was, then sat facing the boy soon to be a man, experiencing is first
love separation. Into my thoughts came the saying, 'Parting is such
sweet sorrow.' But I know there is nothing sweet about parting from
ones first perceived true love. It can create such a pain, that one who
as never felt it could never comprehend of the agony that it can
produce and the long lasting scars it can leave on soul and mind.

"Are you afraid she might want to meet some one else," I asked.

"I don't know. She says she loves me." He looked up at me and with a
resigned voice and said,
"Go on say it, 'we're to young to be really in love.' That's what her
parents said."

His words brought back a memory of my childhood and my father singing a
song with those very words in and I covered my mouth and smiled.

"Do you think you're too young," I asked.

"No! Maby." Then with a sigh, "O, I don't know. I was sure, I really
believed it, but I don't know about her now."

"I know you will think I'm talking a load of bull but, believe me, I
have been there and I do know how you are feeling. That's why I know
there is nothing I can say to make you feel better, nor can I give you
any real advice." As I spoke I wanted to reach out and touch him, to
take his pain onto myself. But I knew I could not touch him or relieve
him of his anguish, all I could offer was my sympathy, and that was the
last thing he would want of me at the moment, but I continued on with
what little I might offer in the way of comfort, "This is something you
will have to sort out for yourself. I will say, you can and will, get
through this, no matter what the outcome of the separation."

Hearing a rustling behind me I turned to see my dog, I called him to me
and he came and sat at my side and nuzzled me. The boy looked up, but
in the darkness I could not see his face.
"What's his name," he asked.

"Laddy," I answered.

He gave a little laugh and said, "Laddy! Why Laddy? That's a funny name
for a dog."

Laughing with him I explained, "He's a Rough Collie. You know like
Lassie. You must have seen the films of Lassie?"

"O, I see, Laddy, as in a boy Lassie," he exclaimed, and for the first
time he seemed like a normal young boy.

"Do you have a dog," I asked, trying to steer the conversation away
from his melancholy.

"Yes, a Labrador bitch," he answered.

"How old is she?"

"Eight"

"She's no youngster then," I again laughed and said, "I bet she will
miss you when you go to collage, have you thought of that."

He gave a light laugh and said, "No she wont, she's really my mom's
dog. I hardly ever take her for a walk unless I have to."

He did not continue the conversation and we both sat in silence for a
few minutes. I knew that I would have to leave him, but I did not want
to leave him here on his own with his despondent thoughts.

"Look, can I make a suggestion," I asked, "Why don't you talk to your
mother about this, woman, especially mothers, understand these thing
better than men. Dad's get all embarrassed and mumble a few platitudes,
but mom's will always listen, and try understanding. Let's get up and
out of here, it's getting to dark to see." Standing up I said, "Come
on, you make your way home and have a talk with your mom."

With out a word he stood and walked up to the path, I followed him and
at the path I said, "I must finish the dogs walk. You go on, that way
we wont see each other in the street light."

Turning to face me he said, "Goodnight," and turned and walked towards
the gate and the now lit lights of the road.

Not moving from where I was, I watched him until he had left the park.
Putting the lead on the dog I then also left and made my way back home.
On entering the house, I stood for a moment in the darkened hall,
listening to the silence of the now lonely rooms since she had
gone.