My Daily Walks
Life is too busy. Too many things are out of my control. Too many questions for which I have no answers. Time. The passing of time seems to be the only answer, so I walk to fill time.
This street is pretty much all I have ever known. The pines, sweetgums, the Magnolia, the maples. They blur in my vision. I do not even notice them as I step out onto this rough tar and stone street. I turn right. I always turn right. I do not really remember why. I don’t think I like going the other way. I cross the street to the left side, absently looking for cars. It is a practiced habit. You see, I have been this way so many times. This is my home. The place where I live. I wander.
I look up as I cross left. There is the little white cottage. My mom shows the film every now and then. My older sisters are toddlers. My brother is an infant. My dad is not there. He was always away during those years. The porch where my mother sat and looked across the street at a red brick house that she dreamed she might have one like it. We live in that house. Or, they do. I pass time there.
I pass the yellow-green house of the lady who gave my brother his water spaniel. I can’t remember her name. She was Billy’s dog’s lady. Then, there was the Westons’ house. Enemies. The daughter that thought me less than human. The son with the huge chip on his shoulder. I walk past with only a few looks their way. There was the Kings’ house across the street now. They moved away. Then, Robin’s house on the corner. Did they or did they not have a pool in their backyard. The big mystery I didn’t believe. I looked anyway. Then, I turned left.
Turning left, I could see the highway. Rivers Avenue. It was two streets away. More pines dotted the way. Large sweetgums overhung gravel or dirt drives in front of houses. I always wonder what it would look like with sidewalks and curbs, but never too much. My mind looked beyond this street to the highway ahead and what lay further. Looking without thinking for the errant dog out of its yard, I set into my pace. I was told I looked like I was bobbing as I walked along the street. I once tried to adjust that then stopped trying. I just walked and had too many other things on my mind. I was skinny, yet not. I was strong, yet not. I was short, yet not. I looked goofy, yet not. I walked.
Pondering the sky and the highway up ahead, my mind wanders through many thoughts. Why doesn’t she like me? Why doesn’t anyone seem to care? How do I get through another day? In two more years, no more school for me. I am free of this place. The fenced yards slowly go past. Down that street to the left is the Honeywell house. It always looked so amazing at Christmas, covered in lights. Everyone walked through the neighborhood to see what they did this year. There was Milly’s house, there on the corner. Was she a girl or a boy? She looked like a girl but fought like a boy. I haven’t seen her in awhile. I wonder what she is doing.
Here I am. Four lanes of traffic. No fear in me at all. Timing is everything. I have done this too many times. I look left and quickly acknowledge Larry’s barber shop as I gauge the oncoming traffic. I stop my wayward thinking to focus on cars that are traveling far above the 45 MPH I know is posted. I cross at a walk, a jog, and then run. Did he just speed up to hit me? I look right. Down there is the bridge that covers the road. One way goes to my old school, the other down Montague. I don’t go that way. I don’t know anyone down that way. The big green median with trees spaced along its middle. I know it goes for miles like this in both directions. I begin to watch the cars coming at me from the right as I edge nearer to that side. I decide to take the gully today. I begin planning my journey. There is Veer’s Grocery. In front of me, the Laundromat. A gap. I run.
Feet landing hard, slapping the asphalt road, I slow to walk onto the sidewalk in front of the Laundromat. I once saw a Hell’s Angel in there. He was the president of his chapter. I remember watching him warily. You know what they say about bikers. Is it true? Mostly, he washed his clothes and was gone. I look north and begin to walk. The cars swoosh past me as I walk well off the road. They are crazy sometimes and hit people, I thought. At least, that was my mother’s warning. I walked passed the creosote soaked telephone poles. The aroma fills my nostrils. I see the bridge coming up. In moments, I am there.
I do not know why I like walking over the bridge to get into the gully. Habit? Maybe it is just easier. The slope is more gradual and the rocks are larger. I always look under it and wonder about whatever is under there. More brown stained poles bolted together. Some people fish in this. Not me. Never. I rounded right off the road and down to the bank. The sound of the water splashing over the rocks and the green plants growing wild somehow comforted me. I know I have stopped and just stared many times at the sand, the mud, the rocks, the birds, the bugs, and the little gray-green fish that darted back and forth. I liked this place beside the road, just off the bridge. Turning left, I continued along the bank.
My mind begins to wander as I pick my way along the bank. The wild flowers and plants, the grasses and the trees. They all begin to blend as I get into my rhythm of thought. The trestle is ahead. I have to think my way up the steep slope of loose rocks and sand. The grass that covered the sides has given way to paths of many walkers over the years. No trains to watch out for. No trains to watch. There rarely are. At the top of the tracks, standing high over everything else. Which way do I go today? I go north.
In the far distance, I can see Remount Road. I quickly play through my head the intersection of track and street. I step off the tracks and into somebody’s yard. I set myself back in motion. My mind wandering, playing the thoughts of today, yesterday, and tomorrow. I do not count the streets anymore. I barely take notice of their names. In moments they become markers I passed this way.
Blood fills my hands and my legs as I walk. My legs feel tight. I pass streets that have no memories for me other than my walks. Another bridge crosses a salt march. I pay it very little attention. It is full of tall yellow grass and it stinks of crabs and fish. Soon, I am upon Enterprise, the grand circle around white houses all. Today I walk its length, other times I just cut right through. On the other side, my high school, alma mater high. Pain, joy, fun, frustration. I have mixed emotions viewing that place. Mostly frustration. Walking to the right, I bypass the school at its yards. Across its practice fields and parking lots, without thinking it, I am heading home.
Through peoples’ yards, across a fence, across the tracks, looking right to see the trestle, no trains, into Ferndale whose streets I work out in my mind. Down two more streets, across one yard, over a fence, Rivers Avenue.
As I make my way down this final stretch, my mind cleared from its pains, hope sparks momentarily. I cross the four-lane and in three streets I will be home. I slow my walk, dreading those final steps. Nothing is solved. The answers are the same. Tonight will be like last night. My best is never enough. Nothing gets done. Nothing changes. The same arguments over stupid things. The same threats of bodily harm if you don’t “Shut it!” Never alone. It is never quiet. Even the night is filled with the snores of the familiar. I set myself to wait until the next day and submissively do all that is required of me. I look up. Dad’s not home yet. Good. I walk into my home for the last ten years.
“What have you been up to today?” My mom always asks.
“Nothing. I just went walking.” I always reply.
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