Years ago, I read a book called The Walking Stick. The main character worked as a museum employee.  She walked with a limp and used a cane.  In the course of the novel, she met a handsome man who “made love to her”, a phrase which left much to imagine.  She came to adore him and ultimately felt that he reciprocated.  She slowly abandoned her cane, leaving it idle, finding new confidence in his seeming devotion.

But he used her.  He stole from the museum and disappeared, leaving her in disgrace.  By the end of the book, she had resumed her desolate life, and reclaimed the walking stick from where it had lain idle during the whirlwind courtship by the dastardly rogue.

I’ve never wanted to use a cane.  I know that I consider it a stigmatizing utensil, though I also have tried using several varieties and find them awkward at  best.  But a large part of my reticence is the association with undesirability.

Today as I made my way to court, I passed the Children’s Center for the Visually Impaired.  I found myself stopped at the adjacent red light, watching a woman accompany a child of six or seven down the sidewalk.  He rested one hand on her arm, and in the other, held a long white cane with an oval gizmo at the end of  it.  He swept the cane to and fro in front of him as he walked. I imagine it to be new technology, and wondered what information the gadget on the end transmitted.

I studied his face.  He wore impressive dark glasses which covered his eyes and rested midway down his cheeks, sheltering him from the painful glare of the sun.  Below the bottom edge of the lenses, his mouth spread into a wide, unbounded smile.  He waived his free hand occasionally, caught in the animation of the conversation in which he and his companion engaged each other.  They moved slowly down the sidewalk, but not because he faltered.  Rather, they strolled in the carefree, easy fashion of friends just out for a morning walk.

The light turned green.  Someone behind me honked, impatient.  I gave the pair on the sidewalk a last, lingering glance, and then, slowly, continued on my way.