Back to Knottingham
This story, and most every detail, “really” happened in a dream.
In Knottingham I formed my conscience. Where’s your Knottingham?
“Just two more ‘narrowings,’ and you’ll be home…”
It was late afternoon on a lazy Thursday. Work was light and the weather was good, so J.J. and I decided to try out the new bikes.
“We can go to the picnic grove at the park,” he said. “A lot of our neighbors are going, it’ll be fun…”
“Fine,” I thought without saying a word, and we revved up the engines on our new bikes.
One was a lot faster than the other, though; it wasn’t long before J.J. was revving by my moped-esque jaunt at lightning speeds, just barely visible as he approached a distant intersection. At first I tried to keep up, beckoning my bike to surge and rev by twisting back on the handle. But to no avail; this bike was a coaster, meant for taking in views and feeling gentle breezes on gentle nights, and all things gentle inside of me were thoroughly enjoying the moment.
I let him go, and snuggled into the saddle to enjoy the brilliant color of the sunset around me, to smell the aroma of late summer blooms drifting asleep.
When I reached that distant intersection, J.J. apologized for taking off so fast. “I must’ve been going like 40 or 45,” he said, and I nodded in agreement, “Times two…”
“Nah,” he said. “I wasn’t going that fast…” I smiled and thought, “Oh yes, you were…” but it was no use saying it, because he wouldn’t have believed me anyway. And I had no energy for a counter.
“Let’s stay together this time, I’ll slow down,” he said, and I nodded again.
A few seconds later, his ferociously eager moto was again propelling him forward, out of my sight. It looked like fun! He had no idea I was falling behind and forgot pretty quickly the pact we just made. Despite my mounting dis-ease, who could stop him…? It was a nice night, after all, and being a frivolous, carefree kid was in his blood.
Sunsets turn into twilight, though, and things can get scary fast, especially when you and your moped have never met before, and you have no idea how to turn on the headlight.
Besides, I wasn’t even sure what road we were on. This had never been my route.
Alone at a stop sign I vaguely recognized, I struggled to find the switch, button or code to turn on the headlight. Twilight was now evening, and I struggled to see. I couldn’t tell where I was, and looking behind me, I wasn’t quite sure how I got there.
There had to be a light on that bike — it would give me some direction, show me the way to… somewhere other than here. Fumbling with frightened, childlike butter fingers and hitting every protrusion, switch and control I could, somehow, magically, the light came on. There was just one problem: instead of shining forward, the headlight was turned backward and shining on me. I couldn’t move that way, the night around me was still pitch black.
“GPS!” I suddenly thought, reaching inside my pocket for my cell phone. I pressed the buttons that usually work and said, “Please, take me home!” The buttons that usually work spewed angry errors at me, “Voiceover on…” and “Voiceover off…”
I persisted, more slowly to make my point, “Please, find home! Home! I’m lost! Address to home — go home…”
More errors, and a frustrated, scary moment as I realized the cell phone I was holding was the blue one I had decades ago… which likely didn’t even have GPS or any knowledge of how to get me where I needed to go. I fumbled worse, and the phone fell to the ground. I was terrified and squinted and looked around at nowhere, still seated on the bike and trying desperately to find something that I recognized. For the moment, the bike under me was the only solid thing I had. I mumbled prayers under my breath; moving just wasn’t an option.
My prayers vacillated wildly from hope to desperation, faith to fear. On one swing of the pendulum, I remembered that no one comes to rescue you once you’re all grown up — even when you’re a child sometimes — and that you just have to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Swinging back, I thought, “How do I move when I can’t see?” One more swing taunted, “Do it yourself, you worthless, good-for-nothing!” The echo countered in staunch opposition, “You are doing everything you can in this moment, look at yourself from the outside, be at peace…”
The feelings were intense and hard to manage, so I gripped harder to the handles and took some breaths with as much confidence as I could.
Suddenly out of nowhere, a woman approached me — a most motherly, kind and gentle woman, the type of woman you would find working hard to save baby whales or shelter dogs, conducting a food drive at the local church or protesting school board decisions that do anything but build students up. I knew I could trust this woman — or else, I would have felt very afraid, indeed.
“Do you need some help?” she asked me politely. If it had been anyone else stuck there besides me, she would have asked exactly the same question. If she feared for her own life in that moment, still, she would have approached me and asked to help. This woman was warm and good and safe.
“In fact,” I said with my voice shaking, “I’m totally lost! I can’t see, it’s so dark, I have no idea where I am — can you help me get home…?”
“Where’s home?” she asked me.
“Knottingham,” I told her. “I need to get back to Knottingham…” fearing the worst, fearing that she would tell me I had somehow time-or-space-warped into some distant planet centuries away.
“Oh, my dear, that isn’t far at all! You are close to Knottingham, don’t be afraid!”
“Really?!” I asked her with a mix of joy and incredulity as I held back tears. “It’s easy…?”
“Yes, very easy,” she insisted. “You simply need to pass through two more narrowings, go through the door, and you’re there!”
“Narrowings…?” I asked.
“Yes, my dear, just two. One is right up ahead,” she said said, oddly pointing behind me, “and when you get to the end, you turn right at the second narrowing, and then you’ll see the door, and you’ll be home!”
I wanted to hug her, but settled for a courteous and sincere, “Thank you so much!” before I hastened — backward — toward the first narrowing.
What a joy to travel through it! The room was warm, well-lit and friendly. It was evening, and two daughters who clearly enjoyed each other’s company were sitting cross-legged on the floor and coloring crafts on a table in front of the couch. The TV was on, but no one was watching it. As I walked by, somehow inside a narrow corridor of sorts in the very center of this happy family home that became narrower as I passed, one of the daughters approached me proudly waving her rainbow art in the air for me to admire. She didn’t mind that I was passing through her living room; no one minded, and no one did anything new or different because I was there. They just let me observe, and feel, contentment and respect.
That first narrowing was coming to an end, and the only way to go was right — which made it so easy for me and was a kind accident since I couldn’t quite remember which way the lady had told me to go.
So I turned right, and indeed, this narrowing was a little narrower than the first, but equally bright, warm and not at all scary or intimidating. And best of all, as soon as I turned that corner, I could see the door ahead, one with an old-fashioned “K” written in a very impressive script. It had to be the door to Knottingham!
I quickened my pace and smiled at no one as I realized how lucky I was to have escaped that dark, scary corner — and now to be just steps from the door, I couldn’t wait to be home!
As I drew closer to the door that I couldn’t wait to open, I was surprised to come upon a small, home library to my right full of books — and inside was the wonderful lady from the street corner! No wonder she knew the way to Knottingham! But how did she get there so fast? No matter, I had to say thank you. It is what she would have done.
I peeked my head in the door just long enough to express my overwhelming gratitude. I was safe now. I could feel it…
A man next to her stood up and said, “Were you lost…?”
I was overwhelmed by the question, and broke down heaving sighs and hot tears. “Yes,” I told him. “So lost, very afraid. And this woman… your wife..? Asked me the kindest thing, ‘Do you need help?’ and I just knew — she meant it. And I knew she wouldn’t tell anyone how she saved me, or expect anything from me. I knew she meant it for kindness’ sake alone…”
I cried and fell into his arms for what seemed long but was short, and he, too, was warm and kind and good. “Just one more thing,” he told me, “you can’t go to Knottingham until we tell you one thing…”
“What is that…?” I asked him, not at all afraid.
He put his hands on my head, closed his eyes, and his wife did the same. I was shocked that in this secular place with a few bystanders, he began to pray powerful words of blessing and invocation, asking me to be brave, to trust the power of the Spirit in my life, and to know I will always be cared for…
At this prayer, my heart began to pump with new energy filled with confidence and trust. Knottingham was less than a step away — just as far as the door handle. I reached out to touch it, then I woke up in peace.