61. Learning to Walk

“Dearest Kyra, should I wake Trev and escort him in?”

“Yes Goldie. Oh, and Goldie,” Kyra winked, “uhm, be gentle this time, will ya.”

Goldie batted her eyes in mock innocence just like grandma used to do. How papa had captured so many of grandma’s traits in a robot never ceased to amaze. Then again, papa himself was one of a kind. So much love, so much patience, so much understanding. Kyra hadn’t met 10 Hynerians that together could have matched the capacities of her grandfather.

Twirling papa’s blue onyx ring between her fingers, Kyra moved across the room as only she could. Her gait, remarked by so many, flowed effortlessly. Her tight and taut body spoke of strength beyond her slight frame, but her gait, oh that walk, both intoxicated and soothed simultaneously.

As with most things, Kyra learned to walk from papa. Not to walk, but to walk. “There’s a difference,” he would always say. “Kyra, few really walk. Most pound the ground with their busyness, their rush to be someplace other than where they are. They live their life in anticipation, forever thinking,” and with the word thinking his eyes would widen as if the word itself carried some special significance, “forever thinking that life would be better over there.” And with that papa would look all around him as if there really was a “there” and then would shrug his shoulders when “there” was nowhere to be found.

“Where is there Kyra?” papa asked. And she would point to some place down the beach. They walked to there and papa would ask again with a grin. “Are we there Kyra?

“Yes papa, we are . . . here.”

“But is here the same as there,” he asked.

She smiled, “No papa here is here and here is not there.”

“Look behind you child.” Kyra glanced down the beach from whence they had come. “Tell me what you see.”

“I see the sand and the water papa,” Kyra responded not at all certain anymore that her eyes saw what papa saw.

“Look again my sweet young jewel, look closely, and tell me what you see.”

Kyra looked again. A wrinkle formed between her eyebrows in determined concentration. Papa had taught her to break down a situation into its smallest parts. “We climb mountains the same way as stairs,” he preached, “one step at a time.”

She started with the ocean. Nothing unusual there. Her eyes moved to the sand. Again, looked perfectly normal. But there must be something she thought. Papa saw something she didn’t and she refused to miss the point. Kyra was nothing if not determined.

“Focus on the facts Kyra. Focus on what you know.”

She thought aloud, “We were there and now we are here.” And then a smile of wonder emerged. “We. Me and you papa! Me and you makes two. Yet I only see one set of prints in the sand and those prints are mine papa. How is that possible?”

“Kyra, my dear sweet child, walk with anticipation and the heaviness of those thoughts will not be forgotten by the lives you crush underfoot. Walk to be, to be here and only here and you walk with lightness and you walk with peace. Would you like to learn to walk my dear sweet Kyra?”

“Yes, papa. Please teach me to walk,” Kyra shouted as she jumped with delight into her papa’s arms.

The door to Kyra’s quarters swooshed open.

“Come in Trev, can I get you anything,” said Kyra.

“No time, take a look at this report on Kieran. It appears the Golden Tree soup is not working. If this data is accurate, he has less than forty-eight hours.”

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