We rode single file down the street past friends’ houses. None happened to be out for a friendly wave. No matter. The air was warm and humid, the rain just holding off. A perfect evening for a bike ride.

You decided to ride past the library. It was closed. The road beyond was busy and full of cars. We decided to turn back. This time, though, we took a different path. I didn’t remember ever going down it. Nor had you. We didn’t know exactly where it led but the general direction was correct.

At the crossroad, you guessed right, I guessed left. You were leading but you went with my intuition. We weren’t really sure where we were but pressed on undeterred. After rounding the corner we saw the path. The Secret Path! The one that you took with grandma to the Pink Playground. The one where we found a homeless teddy all those years ago. The Secret Path that leads back home.

The rain was now spitting on our faces. You decided to go home. Dutifully, I followed.

You are now sleeping. I see your six-year old body stretch two thirds the length of your bed and I wonder where the time has gone. You were my baby; now you’re my little boy. In another instant you will be 12. One more, and you’ll be 18. A boy to a man in no time at all. My greatest fear is a world where I’m alive without you. My second greatest fear is a world where we’re alive but I’ve forgotten these times together.