“Home is behind, the world ahead.” —J.R.R. Tolkien

The back seat of my car is scattered with layers of clothing, shoes, and snacks—a grey waist length wool jacket I never thought would get much wear, ankle height leather boots with gravel stuck to the soles, a cream-colored cloth bag with green lettering carrying pretzels and two apples. If I stretch my arm around to behind the passenger seat, I can reach in and pull out something from the bag to satiate my hunger while driving. The tight weave and wide collar of the wool jacket makes it seem more formal than necessary for trekking in the woods, but it’s unbelievably warm and has lost its capacity for irritating my bare neck.
 
Another jacket—this one burgundy—is piled on top in the back. It’s more casual than the grey, and even though it's not especially attractive, it works well in all manner of weather without being suffocating and has become the coat of choice this winter. Recently I noticed the sleeves have become dirty from all the wear. Throwing it into the washer, I set the water to cold and later it spun mostly dry on the delicate setting.
 
Yet another winter jacket is piled there with orange and white stripes on navy blue and a small tear in the front where a little tuft of down filling pops out. Sometimes I’ll pull on the white fiber until it is released, letting it fly into the wind. It was this last jacket I convinced Jonah to put on and wear for an extra layer of warmth beneath his bigger coat. The sleeves were comically short and tight, resting a few inches above his wrist like a Frankenstein jacket.  
 
Standing outside the car, vehicles pull in all around and beside us as we realize the cold and damp air penetrating our layers will make for more than an unpleasant experience, a recent taste of mock-Spring having fooled us into thinking we’d need less than our winter’s warmest. Bending into the backseat, scrounging through the pile of apparel, we discover additional layers to pile on. For me, the short grey jacket is stuffed under the longer maroon coat. In addition to the too-small jacket, Jonah discovers a woolen scarf the size of a small blanket which he places around his neck and then across his chest, zipping his calf-length team jacket over the stack of garments he’s acquired.
 
Our eyes turn to a steep hill along the side of a brick building where a throng of fans are climbing in the direction of towering floodlights illuminating a green pitch. We begin walking toward the path and the playing field—a short pilgrimage before our true and lengthy pilgrimage to come. The future reality of how that will be is waiting for us on the near edge of summer and has become the source of endless dialogue and planning between us. Walking up the hill I can feel the top edge of my knee socks inside tall boots and feel grateful for their warmth and coverage. We’re walking side by side and I’m wondering what it will be like to trek in this very way across unknown land, in unpredictable conditions, for a considerable length of time and distance. We’re living in a period of anticipation, within the before times, and I’m curious where we’ll find ourselves in the after.
 
As we reach the peak of the hill, we notice bleachers on either side of the rectangular playing field and contemplate where to sit. I suggest the more substantial side where announcements will occur, imagining there will be greater festivity. Jonah is open to either one. Before heading there, we stop to make a purchase and are faced with another decision between two lines. Upon choosing, a woman ahead of us in the second line, decides to leave her place and join us. When the movement stalls, I turn and discuss with her our potentially erroneous choice. She has a bright smile and lightness about her and beneath her makeup I can see the faint outline of an old scar.
 
It doesn’t really matter how fast the line moves. We have plenty of time and it’s interesting to look around, noticing a few familiar faces and marveling at the crowd size. Clearly this is a population who knows how to dress for the weather, and we are not alone is our accumulation of material to form a buffer from the damp air.
 
The logo on the clothing we purchase—two more hats(!) and a scarf-banner—is a red heart with rays of golden light surrounding it. It’s a symbol that emanates tenderness and hope, mirroring the impulse of the people who have arrived on this cold and foggy night to witness something new.
 
It's gratifying to experience Jonah’s knowledge of the game, and to enjoy a level of professional play uncommon in our state. We begin to familiarize ourselves with the players, Jonah looking up their stats and countries of origin—many from across the globe—and quickly noticing who is especially engaging to watch. The woman sitting in front of us and to the left has a very large leather purse with a colorful strap sitting prominently on the bench—too refined seeming for such an occasion, and her perfume wafts around us with hints of flowers. She’s friendly and knowledgeable, overhearing our question about the number of tickets purchased on such a frigid night with school the next day, and generously supplies the answer.
 
A younger woman behind us is shouting for her brother, a player on the opposing team. This is fine by us, and I notice the way she calls him by his first initial in the same way we call Adrian by his—"A." She’s speaking to her parents on the phone, and they are cheering for their son from far away.
 
I’m protected from the wet metal bench where we sit with a padded canvas seat I brought. Jonah comments that he is warm except for his damp backside where water soaked through his jacket. It’s midway through the game before we realize my portable seat can be unbuckled and laid flat to accommodate us both—a trick to remember for next time.
 
I wonder aloud if we should have found a seat on the other side of the stadium where, it turns out, greater conviviality is underway—lively fans chanting in unison to the rhythm of a loud drum, giant flags waving side to side in long deep strokes. Jonah is content to stay put and doesn’t need any more hoopla to improve upon our experience. This does not really surprise me; his impulse toward steadiness and clarity of purpose is a quality I’ve long admired. It’s for this reason, among many, I feel confident planning to travel with him to another continent where we will attempt a journey well beyond our regular ways of coming and going in the world. The need to rely upon one another will be challenged at levels we’ve yet to experience, and our feet are sure to take a beating.
 
It’s a mystery and a miracle to remember the baby whose first toy was a blue elephant named Alfonzo, the toddler who rode the length of our peninsula in his little blue car, and the boy with a heart of gold; and to know him now as a young man whom I can trust and count on in many ways.  
 
Standing and taking in our surroundings while the half-time clock ticks down a quarter of an hour, our feet begin absorbing the cold and we’re both commenting on the experience of our toes as little cement blocks. Standing side by side, Jonah wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in for a side hug, offering physical contact as a means of generating warmth. His embrace feels like the embodiment of an expression of gratitude he’s been prone to use of late when communicating appreciation for all the driving and laundry I do, “I have much love for you.”
 
We’re among the latter of the fans to leave the field and I’m in need of a stop in the restroom. Just as I’m leaving the fluorescent lighting of the cinder block room, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My initial interpretation of the reflection is of a weathered looking woman on one of her lesser days, and clearly one with older children. I keep moving for the door, and before the thought can fully take root, I imagine I might rise above this harmful impression and reject it as true. Instead, my mind flits forward to the young man who will be meeting me outside, on the other side of the door. I’m flooded with the recognition of what I’ve earned in my relationship to him, allowing this more relevant value to supplant any idea about my worth being tied up in things I cannot control, like the passage of time.

Jonah has no idea what has transpired within me in this moment apart, and I am reminded of the entire world within his being that is private and for him alone to know. Venturing to understand his—or anyone’s—inner experience from the level of the mind is rife with the potential for faulty assumptions and visions of a cognitive framework that may or may not even exist. However, when sought and accessed at the frequency of the heart, there are boundless ways of perceiving the wordless and nameless truths of those among us. Despite all that I cannot know about him, this evening I am flooded with a profound sense of closeness.
 
Jonah mentions having seen a girl from his school whom we had just discussed as a math whiz. We move forward into a crowd of people waiting on either side of a pathway where the players will soon be passing by. An event staff member offers an opportunity for some of us to cross through the space to a trail leading to the steep hill down to the parking lot. We take it and begin walking toward the multi-acre lot. At first, I’m confused about where exactly we parked and head more to the right than necessary, at which point we head back, stopping finally at the backseat door and opening it, pulling off our many layers and throwing them into a big heap.
 
A thick fog and rain obscure the dark and winding road home. Intent on keeping us safe, my hands grip the steering wheel at the top and toward the center. Jonah tunes-in to another game in another state where a loved one’s deep and resonant voice calls out a momentous contest in its last pivotal moments. Finally, reaching familiar roads, my shoulders soften, and the weather seems to clear, making everything more visible. We make our way down our long driveway, pulling slowly into the garage. The headlights shine on Jonah's bicycle and a dwindling supply of firewood. We sit in the warm car and wait to go inside. There is an unknown fate hanging in the balance, and we are here to know the outcome. ✨