Letting Go of Light the Night - Part Two

Last night, cool temperatures of Fall had not been present for the Light the Night walk.  I parked my car near the entrance to Sawyer Point, then my phone rang. It was my husband Mark.  He was getting off call. Did I want company?

A loaded question, as I was relishing in the quiet afterhours of the city, after spending the day at my home, with roofers’ heavy footfalls punctuating every word I typed.  Davis had already turned down my invite (see Part One).

But yes, I told him. Come on down. I’m parked at the meters on Eggleston.  Since most LTN walkers were NOT city dwellers, they would park where they would be paying to park for an event they were paying to walk.  I parked at the free meters up the street.

I knew the drill, stand in line for registration.  Negotiate with volunteer for gold balloon, which signified in memory of. They are in short supply, she told me. I think they are for teams. 

They’re in memory of, I reminded her.  I get one every year.  Gold balloons were in short supply for one reason only, many of these walks, the in memory of's don't join. Its too emotional to watch survivors, or co-workers walking for a friend, or family gathering around a child.  If one is attending in memory of, one is constantly reminded of the loved one that didn't survive, and wondering who else will carry that designation later.

The volunteer shrugged, checked off “gold” on my ticket and handed me another ticket to procure a t-shirt. So I sauntered over to the t-shirt booth and received a medium t-shirt, which I would save for Davis. 

I hung around the food long enough, to give up waiting on Mark and starting chomping on a goetta sandwich when he came up from behind.

How did you find me? I asked.  You’re wearing green.  You kind of stand out.  He knew I had an aversion to wearing “colors” of any given “team disease” during these events, whether it be pink, purple (Alzheimer’s walk), or red for LTN.

Actually, I hadn’t planned my wardrobe, just hadn’t wanted to change.

While waiting in the balloon line, we met up with a former neighbor, who still works for the LLS, and talked briefly about his new home. I commented how the food was the best free food offered at this type of event, and confirmed that by downing a Cheryl’s cookie.

Confession: We didn’t wait for the walk to begin. I was ansty.  And I knew, the BEST part of the walk was watching the sun set over the river, then darkness descend.  That is what I had come to love about this particular walk.

So, we set out ahead of the crowd, and spent no actual time in reflection. Mostly, we discussed our day, the roofers, the dog, the furniture at the house that required assembly, our kids in no particular order.

Our only reflection of the night occurred when we stopped on the Purple People Bridge to marvel at the natural resource we take advantage of.   I snapped a photo and sent it to Davis, to let him know what views he was missing out on, and then sadly turned to Mark and said, I feel like Devin was cheated out on the best version of me.  I wish I could have been for him the person I am now.  Mark knew what I meant, but assured me, If that were the case, that would have meant we would have been stagnant all these years.  I married this man for a reason.

As we headed back across the river towards the park, I noticed flames on the deck of the P&G building.  Mark suggested there might be a fire pit on the executive level, but as we closed out our walk, I could see the flames were coming from the new rooftop terrace called The Top, at Phelps Inn.

We have to go, we both agreed, knowing the bar was probably only open ‘til nine o’clock.

Twelve stories up, we took pleasure in the sweeping view of P&G towers, Mt. Adams and the Church of the Immaculata, the darkened river, and the stadiums lit up like Christmas trees.  We wound down from our walk with drinks in hand, I still dressed in my neon green running shoes, feeling conspicuous with my balloon, surrounded by suits and ties, city folk, and a young couple celebrating a birthday. If you didn’t know you were in Cincinnati, based on the energy of the bar, you wouldn’t have known you were in Cincinnati.

As we conversed with the couple, Samantha and Juan, Juan suddenly lurched up and quickly I realized the balloon I had been carrying, in memory of, was now floating upwards, out of my grasp.  All the patrons began pointing up, as the gold balloon now twinkled with the rest of the stars stitched into the nighttime sky.

I had been joking all night about when Davis was little, how many balloons he had popped, or let go of, or the ones he refused to let go, and fell asleep in the car on the drive home, only to wake and ask immediately for his balloon. 

I had also commented I should just let this balloon go too, because while its not environmentally sound, watching a balloon rise, take on the direction of the wind, or blend in the with stars was akin to traveling through space.

It seemed no coincidence - I had willed the balloon from my grasp and encouraged it to join the sky.

We left the bar, I took Mark’s hand, and we marched towards the car, continued on with our talk about living downtown, how on a warm Fall night like this one, we might just walk down to the river, stalk the sunset and turn towards home.  And how lovely a night that will be.