Our car spat, sputtered, and rolled to a stop.
And there we were.
On the side of the A4012, somewhere between Hockliffe and Woburn.
So we did the only thing we knew to do: we called roadside assistance and finished our lukewarm double cheeseburgers while we waited. We sang songs, and taught Adlai his colors, his shapes, his animal sounds. And we laughed when he quacked at a picture of a dog. Close enough.
Two weeks later and we are car-less. We walk an hour each way to church. I pick up a few things at a time from the shop in our neighborhood. I say “not now” to friends out of town. I step round an old car seat we can’t take to the dump. I trip over an easel that belongs in Simon’s office.
I am stuck.
But in this high-and-dryness, I find peace.
I don’t go, because I can’t go.
I stay because I have to.
I rest, because I must.
We’ll be on the move again, soon enough.
And when we are, I think I’ll miss this season of stuck.