Never Walked In High Heels

It was the sort of day where spring had established itself. The winter bite was out of the Manchester air and you knew warmer weather was here to stay for a while. For my birthday some friends  had taken me out of my beloved London to see a play by Miller and have a much needed change of scenery. To take advantage of the latter, I had gotten up early that Saturday and taken a walk outside the city. Or at least I was going to walk as far as my very limited sense of direction would allow me.

After taking some back roads and dodging others, I came across a small canal which twisted under a bridge and through a lock before connecting itself to a larger body of water. On either side, there was a narrow footpath which had grown moldy and slick from years of dampness and warmth. The sound of water rushing was alluring and, although every bone in my  body told me to do otherwise, I made my way down to the narrow walkway to be closer to the water.

I know this is a stupid thing to do but I’m a good driver. I’ll just go to the waters edge and sit. Actually, that pathway is a little wider than I thought. I wonder if it’s wide enough for me to get onto… Look at that, it sure is. Way to go Manchester Council for being accessible. I wonder how far I can make it down this path before I can’ t fit. I’ll stop when I have to. Obviously. 

And so the monologue in my head went, justifying the very stupid thing I was attempting to do. With about three inches of clearance between myself and the water I kept moving. It wasn’t until I was under the bridge that I realized I couldn’t turn around even if I had wanted to. The best I could do would be blindly back my three hundred kilo wheelchair up blindly, the exact way I came in and hope I could align everything perfectly. And still I kept going forward,  past the “danger of death” signs and the place where the pavement became an even tighter fit. The spring wind had grown quiet and there was a dark stillness in the air despite the sunshine.

It has often been noted that in an airplane crash an average on nine separate issues are ignored which should have been addressed in order to avoid disaster. Rarely is it one fatal action which forces tragedy. There are many red flags which appear to ask us to rethink our decision.  This is the way tragedies such as Apollo 1 occur. Ignoring the concerns are how mountain climbers get stranded and ships go down. I knew all of this, and choose to continue to go down this path.

It’d be pointless to turn back now. I’m close to the end of the tunnel and it’s a shorter distance to go forward than back. Besides, everything always seems much easier on the return trip than getting there. 

At one point under the bridge I passed two fishermen who were trying to adjust the position of their boat. They looked up from their work, surprised to see such an adventurer. One of them opened his mouth to speak to me and then, after a moment, closed it again to refocus on his work.

The sunshine at the end of the tunnel hit my face with a blinding violence. At the end I was met by a pavement large enough for me to turn around on, and a staircase as the only means of egress. I would have to turn around and slowly make my way out the with the exact same trepidation as when I came in. So that exactly is what I did.

By the time I got out from under the bridge a second time I was feeling much more confident. The sun had softened and I was headed home, still steering my way confidently forward. I looked down  at my wheels and saw a baby pidgin barely making its way in front of me, his feathers from softening in that young, rough, fledging sort of way. After a second of me chasing him, having no where else to go, too fast and too soon he leapt into the canal.

His reaction was one that neither of us expected.

The water scared him. His wings, flapping like mad, startled the adult birds across the water so that they took off in a self protective panic. His own wings were yet untested, he had no idea how to make use of what the small bird was naturally born for. Feathers becoming saturated, he fought harder  against the inevitable sinking, failing, flailing, moving consistently further away from me. There wasn’t a stick or any net I could reach him with. I couldn’t save him if I wanted to.

I couldn’t watch. I kept going down the path.

A few moments later the friend  I was walking with caught back up to me and said “He’s gone.” I didn’t need to ask her to clarify.

When I got  off the narrow pavement I passed the “beware of death” sign again. I knew that danger was there, I just always assumed it would be me putting myself at risk, not anyone else.

The voices in our heads, the quiet ones, the ones which are the easiest to ignore,  these are often the voices we are supposed to pay attention to. We expect catastrophe to come when we ignore the loud voices and flashing red lights. Arrogance too often comes when we assume we simply know just a little bit more than common sense rather than trying to shake the foundations of the earth.