She hung from his back like an old knapsack whose straps could no longer tighten. Her arms poised limp at the elbows, her fingers leaving imprints between his shoulders and neck, her legs wrapped round his waist at the water line. She declared to him, loud enough for me to hear though I was lounging on a chaise several feet away, "You're my Batman," sounding confident in his ability to protect her from untold dangers. There was a slight pause in speech before his reply.
"And you're my Robin," he assured her in a lower tone, sounding somewhat resigned to their partnership. He continued to walk short laps across the shallow end of the community swimming pool, continued to grip lightly her bony ankles that clung to his hips.
I brought my attention back to the memoir I had been reading, and I doubted the couple had noticed my interest in their interaction.
I often find myself captivated by real-life vignettes such as this one. I ever look for the lessons behind my observations. This day, I paused to ask myself many questions:
Am I like the Batman in the pool, lugging a weight I’ve become used to but am no longer enthusiastic about? Am I continuing to hold on to someone or something because that’s what’s expected? Am I trudging back and forth the same path without any forward momentum? Am I the Robin who’s trusting that I’ll be carried? Am I a burden unaware? Am I willing to let go and swim?
Be enlightened! ~ M