What is Your Name
"Where are we going?" the boy asked.
His question was directed to the young man, walking a stride ahead of him, who led the way along the winding path.
The meandering trail wound through green meadows, full of wildflowers of various colors. The floral ornamentation decorated both sides of the divide. There was no other details, no scars of mankind.
"This way," the young man replied, pointing in the direction they were heading, toward the horizon.
"Where did we come from?"
It was a question the boy had been pondering. Just another question, but this one was formed by his mouth and spoken out loud. Perhaps asking a question about the clover or the buttercups might have been suitable. But some questions just need to be spilt out.
The young man stopped, patiently contemplating the words uttered by the boy. The young man was thin, not very muscular. To the boy he appeared to be a gymnast, or perhaps a marionette, all arms and legs, with close cropped black hair on his head, and hands which seemed to have never labored.
"We came from there."
The boy turned, following the young man's finger. The path behind them was no different than the one before them. A different horizon, no doubt, but quite similar to the one they were set out for.
"It's a lonely path," the boy commented as they began moving forward again.
"And narrow," added the young man. "There are other paths. All are different. All are less narrow."
"Are they all heading to the same place?" the boy queried, unsure if the trail was actually heading toward a place.
"No, they are not. Only this one, the path we are on. This path heads toward the destination where we are heading."
The boy shrugged off, what to him, seemed like a meaningless answer, and began to hum a song that felt trapped in his head. He knew he'd heard it once, maybe twice. He even thought he might know the name of the tune.
"Why are you humming?" The young man asked, casting a sideways glance at his traveling companion.
"A song," the boy replied, caught off guard by the question. "I think I like music. I think it is something about a road. A road that is long and winding."
"This road does curve a bit, always has, always will. But... it is not too long."
"Are the others, long?" the boy asked.
"Some."
The boy knew about one word answers. It usually meant that adults were tired of your inquisitiveness. He wasn't sure how he knew this, perhaps it was some instinct, something all boys were aware of. Still, there was much more to ask.
"Are the others rocky?"
"Some."
"But some of the trails are as nice as this one?" the boy dared to continue. Not wanting to sound as if his words were to mock. After all, despite the narrowness, the trail was mostly level, the rocks were rather small, and there was a slight breeze coming from their rear.
"Not as narrow," the young man answered, pausing, as if that might be the entirety of his response. Continuing he added, "For a ways the other paths may appear to be the correct choice, the right choice, the comfortable choice. But in time, those who travel along those paths discover they are wrong... sadly."
"They turn around and come back, right? Then they take this trail."
"They do not."
"Why?" the boy exclaimed, feeling for those who might take a more difficult route.
"They do not have a guide to direct their steps," the young man responded.
"No guides," the boy said softly. "Then they would become lost. They would not know the way. Those roads they are on might not be safe... and without a guide..."
"They are lost, like sheep. They are the prey of wolves and other evils. Sometimes they will be hunted by their own fears, their inability to trust... submit themselves to one who knows the way, one who is here for this purpose."
"Like you?"
The young man nodded his head and kept his stride at the same moderate pace it had been at all along.
"What if I get hungry or thirsty? We have no food and water."
The young man took another glance at the boy. "Are you?" he asked. "Are you hungry or thirsty?"
The boy thought for a moment and replied, "No, I'm not."
"Then do not be concerned about such things.
Do not be concerned about food. Do not be concerned about water. Do not be concerned about the trail's length. Do not be concerned about other possible trails, or their destinations. All this ran through the boy's mind. He had no idea where they were heading. He had no idea where they had come from. He should be frightened, but the young man did not seem threatening in the least. Actually, the boy thought, he might even know the man. He considered that it was possible he might have known the young man for a long time, maybe his entire life.
He just couldn't recall his name.
"One last question, okay," the boy said.
Ahead of them the horizon began to lightly glow. The boy sensed that their journey's end was near. He felt overwhelmed with joy, but still had one more question to ask.
He stopped, eyes focused on the illuminated horizon.
"What is your question?" the young man inquired, ceasing his steps as well, while asking the question.
Slowly the boy said, "I seem to have forgotten... but what is your name?"
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