Marooned

It’s possible, as an adult, to be marooned – on a desert island, in the mountains when winter hits. It’s possible, when you’re eight months old, to be marooned, too, only it’s your own motility that maroons you. Baby, for instance, now knows how to pull herself up to standing, and does so all the time. She’ll crawl to a kitchen chair, grab the crossing brace six inches from the floor, build some upper momentum with her torso, grab the edge of the seat, and stand up on her own two feet, just like a big girl. She’ll stand there for a minute or two, sometimes more, perfectly content with her situation. It is interesting, after all, to be standing up. You see a lot more of the world from way up high like that. Eventually, though, if you’re eight months old, you recognize that as balletic and intelligent as you may have been in gaining your new position in the world, you now could use the help of one of the extremely large people with whom you share the house. At this point, you utter a soft call. As if by magic, two hands descend from high, high overhead and help you down to a safe seated position. Until you’re marooned once more.