Scarlet 4 is no longer around. I knew she was getting on in age. I knew she had lots of dents and scratches. Her carry-on luggage was bent and unable to fit smoothly in her grasp.
For some reason I was avoiding getting a new one. Scarlett and I had gone through a lot together. We had travelled the seas and flown over the seas too.
So many people had shared her seat. They had caressed her gently and with the utmost respect. People would escort her to a private area and make sure she was out of harms way.
Scarlet 4 was a part of me and I often felt vulnerable without her. So when she finally snapped and gave up I nearly collapsed myself.
Maybe it’s the other way around. My right leg got in the way of my left and before I knew it I was on the ground. Scarlett joined me and folded in half as she landed on the ground beside me.
Which ever way it happened it still ended with Scarlett broken and me resigned to the fact it was time to get a new walking frame.
I went to a shop today on the Nepean highway in Brighton and tried to find Scarlet number five.
Going to a shop to buy a mobility aide is depressing. Of course you would think I should be fine with it. I’ve been using one for years so I should just accept it and buy it and move on. Just another day for me, right?
No, it’s not just another day. I never pictured myself testing out walking frames for sturdiness or weight. I never imagined that I would worry about whether the frame
had a basket or not. Or if it had a seat that was comfortable.
I think I would have preferred shopping for red high heels instead of a red walking frame.
Then again, as my father pointed out to me this morning, Scarlett number 5 enables me to live my life.