Making Carl Proud

“Lazarus, wake up.” A sweaty two and a half year old unglues himself from the seat of the double jogging stroller and begins following in Kadince’s footsteps across the granite mountainside. His face as round as a full moon, big soulful brown eyes, slight curls stuck to his face and neck, refreshed by the mile ride uphill, he takes off. “Lazarus, wait for me,” his mother calls. She looks my age. Her name is Ella. She has a newborn named Rumi attached to her chest, sometimes nursing, sometimes riding in the baby carrier, but always attached to her chest in one way or another.

She was my inspiration to make it up the mountain. Every time I wanted to turn around and head back I reminded myself that Ella, who just gave birth three months ago, was carrying one child and pushing another one uphill in a stroller, and at times pushing Kadince also. Together the three children weigh more than she does, yet she still manages to walk faster than me.

We all sit together at the top of the mountain. I try to think of Carl Sandburg. I listen to the breeze pass through the leaves on the trees, and feel it cool the sweat on my skin. And then FLICK FLICK goes some woman’s lighter, and PUFF PUFF as she sucks in the fresh nicotine and then with a great exhale releases the second hand smoke for all to enjoy. It makes me laugh and I wonder if Carl was a smoker. You never know, he may have hiked up that same trail only to get to the top and light one up.

Lazarus is running in and out of the little island of trees that somehow grows up out of the middle of the rock. He picks a leaf and carefully balances it on his hand. “See my butterfly,” only he can’t quite pronounce things correctly yet, so it comes out more like, “See me bufwy.” “Mommy, I got misquoto bite.” He’s got both little arms wrapped around his belly as though he were giving himself a big hug. He starts turning in circles as though if he turns around fast enough he might be able to catch the itchy spot which is clearly just out of reach.

Ella’s nursing Rumi again. She reaches over and scratches Lazarus’s back. “You wanna’ take your shirt off?”

“Yeah, tanks.” She helps him slip his T-shirt up over his head, and then with the greatest care she reaches out and removes a small red bug from his back.

“Lazarus, you had a tiny bug on you. You wanna’ see it?” Lazarus’s eyes sparkle like any two year old bug loving boy. He reaches his hand out as the bug, which by the way is the size of the head of a pin, crawls on his hand and then up and down his arm. He marvels at it. Kadince examines the leaves of the trees where he has been playing.

“Mommy, they’re all over the trees. They look like spiders.”

“They’re mites, Kadince.” My skin starts to itch and I think maybe I’ve had enough nature. Lazarus is still intently watching the tiny red bug crawling all over him.

“I tink I’ll put it on da twee.”

“That’s a good idea, Lazarus.” He reaches his hand out allowing the tiny red bug to join its friends on the leaves. And I think to myself, Carl would be proud.