The sidewalk had a freshly chalked hopscotch, a little wonky but playable. Darlene couldn’t resist and, at age 87, she went from 1 to Safe and from Safe to Sorry in less than a minute.
“Really?” the young doctor asked. “Hopscotch?”
“Wasn’t kickboxing, doc,” Darlene replied, thinking how a well-placed boot…
“Positive thoughts only,” she stopped herself, a rule she tried faithfully to follow.
For hadn’t she been “positive” in believing she could bend down to retrieve her marker without falling? Her wedding ring. She could have left it there, twenty years a widow. But it was her source of equilibrium.