She was chasing butterflies.
Summer had fallen over Baltimore, making the weather hot and sticky, not that she cared. She was three, about to turn four, and wasn't bothered. I, on the other hand, was thirty-nine, and just glad that I was on the night run.
"I don't get it," I said to Rose. "How can they run around like that?"
"Because they're young and carefree instead of old and constantly worried about things," said Rose. "Besides, I'd rather have them running around now."
"I wonder why," I said dryly. "You know, that garden of yours is going to get one of them stung."
"Not if they stay away from the bees," said Rose. "You saw them, they're chasing butterflies."
"Here's to hoping they don't touch wings, then," I said. Rose rolled her eyes.
"I think they know better," she said, and then, "You ever wonder what the point of chasing a butterfly is?"
I looked over at her with raised eyebrows. "The point of chasing a butterfly?" I asked, and when she nodded, I went on. "I don't know. Something to do?"
"Think about it in terms of life. What are they looking to do?"
"You sound like a teacher."
"Oh, hell, John, just answer the question."
Silence. The truth was that up until she'd told me to think about it as life, I hadn't gotten it. Now I did, and leaned back in my seat.
"Life, huh?" I said. "Trying to achieve something impossible. No matter how hard they try, the butterfly is always going to be able to get away."
"Not necessarily. There's always a chance they could catch it."
"True, but it's more likely that they won't."
"Then it's more likely that there isn't anything to hope for."
"There's always something to hope for. I thought I was supposed to be the cynical one."
"Well, it's my turn, since Abby's not home to be a pain in the ass."
"Aren't you supposed to be the nice one?"
"That depends on what mood I'm in. You said there was always something to hope for. Why?"
"Because there is. You can hope someone will make it; you can hope you won't get hurt, that a prosecutor will win a case, that your kid won't grow up to hate you…"
"Point taken. Now compare it to the butterflies."
"This isn't high school, Rose. What are you getting at?"
"Just think about it."
Another moment of silence. After a while, I leaned forward.
"Suppose you could say it's currently their version of hope," I said. "Something simple that they can understand."
"So," said Rose, leaning back in her seat. "What would you call it?"
"Chasing hope," I said, and we left it at that.