Left Foot, Right Foot

Left foot, right foot. Watch your step. Slippery tree root. Try not to step on that one. Left foot, right foot. I turn to the boy beside me. I try to egg him on. But does he need to be pushed on? He seems so much fitter than me! He looks like he’s hardly breaking into a sweat. He gives an impassive smile.

Left foot, right foot. How did it go all wrong for this boy? I mean, I’m sure he’s a lot fitter than I was at his age. I’m sure he’s pretty smart too, judging from his witty replies to my questions. So much potential, but why is he in the boy’s home? Could it be a lack of a proper support network? Friends who were a bad influence?

Left foot, right foot. What is that impassive smile about? Was that a tinge of regret I see in his face? Was that a mask of indifference; an attitude which screams “I know all of you only see me as being a delinquent. That’s why I don’t bother with niceties!”? Are all of them really like that?

Left foot, right foot. Maybe I shouldn’t dwell on the what ifs and focus on the what could be. And I hope I could be a good role model for him. I hope all our shared experiences allow him to realize that he might actually be superior to me in so many areas, never mind what people say. I want him to know that having been sent to the boy’s home should not be the end of the road.

Left foot, right foot. It’s just the beginning of the road.