I can still hear my mother’s voice. “Stop turning around, why must you walk backwards?”
It was fun. I liked to see what I was leaving behind. I liked to see the smiles on people’s faces as they walked towards me.
Mothers hand on my shoulder, turning me the right way around. Not so much fun, watching the backs of people walking ahead of us.
Were they going somewhere nice?
Would they buy the pink and white heather from the lady standing on the corner?
Sadly, they walk past her, thinking her an old gipsy and not worth bothering with. Mum never did. She told me once that heather wasn’t lucky.
I thought it was better than begging. At least she was offering something and who knows, it may be lucky for someone.
Turning again, walking backwards. I wonder if one of these people smiling would remember the day they watched a young girl walking backwards?
Would the memory come back to them years later?
Would they smile the same smile again?