There are times when you search for wonder. You travel to new venues, seeking magic. You peek in museums, dance at concerts, and walk unknown streets. You may discover wonder in a quaint corner restaurant or a conversation with a quirky bartender. Sometimes, though, wonder comes to you. It quietly taps your heart with its truth. This is a story about how on a humid Friday in June, the heat, a friend, and a boy named Max dazzled me with their gifts of wonder.
I was back in my hometown for a quick overnight visit, squeezing in appointments and overdue visits with old friends. Before I headed back, I dropped in on a girlfriend who had just returned from an European river cruise, and I wanted all the details. Even though the day was warm, we donned our Nikes and set out on a walk. As we approached the path that traversed the park, I began to feel lightheaded, but we continued on our way, chatting about Ann’s trip and then moving on to more serious life issues. I began to feel this pressure on my chest, as though someone had shut me in a small, dark closet with little air. We stopped a few times so I could rest, hoping my strength would return. We were approaching a small neighborhood park where I knew there was a drinking fountain. If I could make it there, I would be okay, but at the top of the hill I plopped down on the sidewalk. I couldn’t go another step. I had stopped perspiring and a wave of nausea crept up my throat. Ann quickly moved me to a piece of shade and took off to get her car. I sat under that pine tree, feeling both scared and embarrassed. Wonder had grabbed me by the throat and snatched my breath.
A few minutes later I spied a dark-haired boy jogging towards me. He shoved a water bottle in my hands and said, “My mom said to to drink this.” I asked him, “Do you know Ann?” He nodded. I gulped down the water while he kept me company. During the next fifteen minutes I learned Max was an only child with two dogs. He loved video games. He was going into fourth grade in the fall. He was signed up summer school, but “Not because I’m stupid; it’s immersion,” he said. When I attempted to return the bottle, he said, “There’s water left. You need to drink it all.” Max’s innocent chatter helped me recover my breath and my dignity. When Ann pulled up, we both piled in her car to return Max to his mother. I later learned he was the son of one of Ann’s work colleagues, and when she saw their yard sale, she requested Max run some water to me while she retrieved her car. Wonder appeared in the form of an eleven year old boy clad in flip flops, black sweat pants, and a green jersey.
When we got back to Ann’s house, she sat me down on her kitchen stool and demanded I drink more water. She Googled my symptoms, convinced her Web MD diagnosis was heat exhaustion. I needed salt and hydration, she said, so as she laid out a spread of saltines, cheese, fruit, and lemonade, I listened to her husband tell more stories of their glorious trip up the Danube River. She wouldn’t let me leave until I had a cool shower and more water. We cozied up on her couch until I felt well enough to drive. She finally allowed me to go, but not before giving me clear instructions to take it easy the next few days. Stay cool. Drink lots of water. Avoid any strenuous activity. Wonder was a nurturing friend with ice-cold pink lemonade and a pocketful of mothering love.
I learned a few invaluable lessons that hot and humid day. One, do not walk in the mid-day heat, especially if I’ve had lots of coffee and not enough water. Heat exhaustion is a serious and terrifying condition I do not wish to repeat. Two, I am grateful for the bounteous joy that is my friend Ann. She is fierce and formidable and fabulous. Three, I do not have to always search for wonder. Often it sneaks up, leaving me breathless and deeply moved. Max’s presence that afternoon was a wonderful example of an amazing wonder.
I will continue to keep my eyes open for wonder because it just may surprise me with unexpected joy.
“Look at everything always as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time: Thus is your time on earth filled with glory.” -
Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
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