Our house is two blocks from the college, and one from the high school. Our son Zack has been amenable to walking, though recently he got his license and enjoys the chance to take the third car. The twins are often running late, and we drive them most mornings. I think it would be a pleasant stroll, if not for the twenty pound back pack of books, lunch box of veggies and yogurt, water bottle, and sports duffel stuffed with tap shoes, leotards, tennies, and tights. Plus Alden Road is enough of an incline that my cousin remembers thinking as a young child in fourth grade geography that it probably showed up on topographical maps. 

Which it doesn't. I checked.

The other evening the girls texted asking for a ride home. I was in the middle of making stir fry and texted back.

"Pretty nice out. Want to walk?" 

Well, I knew they didn't want to, or they wouldn't have asked for a ride, but might be cajoled into it. They were for once not in a hurry, squeezed between dance and play practice. The handful of days flanked by performance weekends are a respite from rehearsals. They could lounge on the couch for an entire evening. A quick walk would do them good. 

Then I checked my phone.

"Aurelle hurt her foot. Please?"

My propensity toward stoicism flipped instantly to compassion.

"Right there" I tapped, turning down the burner, and grabbing the keys. Hurt her foot? She had five dance numbers waiting for her, or rather would not wait for her, on Friday and Saturday. Step in Time would not do well as Hobble in Slow mo. Where was my arnica?

When I got to the gym Aurelle limped to the car, Hope helping carry her bulky load. Once we were home I asked how it happened and what it felt like. 

She had rolled it doing a routine, and the trainer who is usually on site to check injuries was not around. Should I wrap it with an ace bandage? The next morning she was still sore, and there were no suggestions of walking. Hey, if I could have carried her I would. But my efforts were limited to cooking eggs and driving. 

When we expect other people to carry their own weight, it is often based on the assumption that they are not hurt. This might be because we don't pause to ask, or sometimes because they are not forthcoming. It is not always easy to admit we are in pain. Maybe they do not meet us half way because of an old sprain.  

It behooves us to leave room for the possibility.