“Excuse me, boys.”
He did not move.
I waited.
“Need to get through.”
Jake looked over his shoulder.
Then down at my maintenance badge.
He smiled.
“Walk around.”
“The cable box is behind you.”
“So?”
“So I need to get there.”
His friend laughed.
“Man, he sounds like my grandfather.”
Jake looked at my cane.
“Your leg messed up?”
“My hip.”
“You fall?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Life.”
That got a laugh.
I was willing to leave it there.
Jake was not.
He reached out and tapped the top of my cane.
“Pretty fancy stick.”
“Does the job.”
“Let me see it.”
“No.”
He smiled.
Then grabbed it anyway.
The sudden pull caught me off balance.
My left leg buckled.
I stepped sideways and caught myself on the corner of a folding table.
Several plastic cups tipped over.
The boys laughed harder.
A woman nearby frowned.
“Hey!”
Jake held the cane above his head.
“Relax. I’m messing with him.”
I straightened slowly.
My hip burned.
“Give it back.”
Jake inspected the wood.
“Real nice.”
“My wife gave it to me.”
Something in my voice should have ended the joke.
It didn’t.
He spun the cane clumsily like a staff.
“Maybe you should upgrade to one of those walkers with tennis balls.”
His friends nearly folded over laughing.
I looked at him.
“Son.”
“What?”
“Put the cane down.”
His smile changed.
Not much.
Enough.
He had expected embarrassment.
Maybe anger.
What he got was instruction.
Young men with too much ego often hear instruction as disrespect.
Jake stepped closer.
“What are you gonna do if I don’t?”
I glanced toward the mat.
People were beginning to notice.
That made Jake worse.
An audience had arrived.
He tossed my cane onto a wooden bench near the edge of the plaza.
It bounced once and nearly fell to the pavement.
My jaw tightened.
Then Jake stepped backward onto the demonstration mat.
He spread both arms.
“Come on.”
I stared.
“You serious?”
“What?”
“You looked at me like you wanted to do something.”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I want my cane.”
“Then take it.”
One of his friends called:
