“I thought about how much work it was to have fun, and how brave we all were for going to the trouble,”
― David Sedaris, Children Playing Before a Statue of Hercules

Author’s note: This post is offered, in lieu of a statue (or sticker on a wall), to a specific dry cleaner, fireman, and baker.

We had milk and cereal; healthy oat and almonds, then Lucky Charms, and then—it was just there!—the deliciously crumbled last of the bag of chocolate chips. We divided the lot three ways, somewhat equally; two of us were dealt a little more, well a lot. Then we wiped the chocolate that somehow got on the wall.

It is a beautiful, stickered wall, proudly displaying blue fish, red fish—the yellow one peeled off; it was a mistake; the guilty party apologized, was forgiven, and the wall was no longer scrubbed as forcefully after that—rainbows, lamas, flowers, cars, lions and ice cream cones and all the letters of the alphabet, which we now know. A gallery of honour, commemorating years of small—colossal achievements; vegetables consumed, toileting mastered, puzzles completed, efforts at sharing initiated with the best intentions. Today, we hoped we would add some; we were off on an adventure.

Coats. Gloves. Boots first. Oh. No no, switch. Now, zip. Bathroom! Unzip… Success. We left the apartment with, each, a hand to hold and—what more do children need?

Three apples in a knapsack. The stuffed bear and rabbit would wait for us here.

We went on the adventure. We walked. Fire trucks! An ambulance, two! Traffic lights. Red Man, White Man. Dogs. At our first stop—Dry Cleaners; we read now, or, well, spell, at least those letters we like—we admired rows and rows of Chinese baubles in the window: swinging monkeys, dancing hippos, head-bobbing cats that only work—magic!—when put in the sun. We dropped off Monday’s tomato-sauce shirts, played for a while, then left.

Bank. We coloured importantly on couches that squeaked when we shifted. We tried and failed, all three of us, not to giggle. Supermarket. We raced up and down the aisles in the trolley—two inside, save the odd limb; the third pushing—till we forgot what we had come for besides cheese. We also bought cherry tomatoes, which are not at all cherries.

We walked on. Fire truck again! A fire station! Reroute. Yes, but holding hands! Traffic lights, wait! Red Man. White Man. We knocked on the big red door. We had nothing to lose, one of us told the others. Fortune favours the brave. We understood the word ‘brave.’ Fortune means—someone answered! That day, two of us wore firemen’s helmets, and sat in a fire truck.

The helmets covered our eyes. The driver’s seat was large, so large it held the three of us. We turned the siren on and off and flashed the lights, said thank you, and went on.

Final stop before the park (the one with the big swings): the bakery. We bought bread. One of us paid. Two of us nibbled the edges of the baguette—to confirm the taste—while admiring, not touching, the display:

Little chocolate cakes; vanilla—Or lemon? Maybe—layered with jam—Yuck—but redeemed by a fluffy, generous topping of whipped cream. It was remarked that if we were to purchase the cake, all parties pledged to avoid contact with hair and furniture. Glistening strawberry, kiwi, pineapple tartelettes. Milanos, profiteroles, cookies shaped like seashells.

We could choose one. We could choose one! One of each?! One, each. One of us had the happiest moment of her life, watching the other two—This one! No, that one, look! Oh! But did you see…—choose, eventually, thankfully (no cream), the seashell and Milano.

No charge. No charge? We thanked the baker, and in the park, had the two Italian pastries, three ways; two of us insisted, extending morsels with little grubby fingers they then wiped on their coats. There is a painting by Adriaen van der Werff: Children Playing before a Hercules Statue.

We went home and immediately added two stickers to the wall. It was a big, colossal day. We slept like heroes must.