The Walk

You probably think this all about my parents but it’s really not. They’re like a dirty lens on a camera: not actually part of the picture yet they always show up. You have to take them into account to get at the real picture, but don’t pay too much attention to them.

The hardest part of taking a walk is deciding where to go. If I were a real Indian I’d wander out into the desert. The closest I can come to that is walking in the middle of the street. I had a girlfriend once who couldn’t stand it when I walked in the middle of the street. We were only together for a short summer. Especially when it’s night, like now, there’s no reason not to walk in the middle of the street. It’s not like there any cars on the road. I feel a lot more comfortable out here than on the sidewalk. When I walk on the sidewalk I feel like I am supposed to be going somewhere. You can’t linger because then you’re lingering in front of someone’s house and that’s just awkward. But out in the middle of the street you’re just a loon walking in the middle of the street. I could go down to that little park down the way but then I’d just freeze my butt off there. The truth is you don’t really have to think about where you’re going out here. All the streets feed into each other and you’ll end up at the nearest strip mall no matter what you do. I could try to consciously avoid major streets but the way these residential neighborhoods are built that’s nearly impossible. There’s a swing at the park. I remember when my first girlfriend broke up with me I spent a lot of time on that swing. That feeling you get when you’re swing really high and then come down and your stomach gets left behind felt right. Tonight I just want to walk, vision quest style.

I have this image in my head. It’s a generic move scene. The protagonist goes to a supermarket in the middle of the night. The lighting is really bright with maybe a blueish tint. You can hear the mmmmmmm of the fluorescent lights. The cashier is invariable bored, almost robotic. It’s supposed to be surreal, this bright orderly static space in the middle of the protagonist crazy night. I actually went shopping quite a bit at 3 a.m. when I was in college. I was awake and usually hadn’t bothered to get groceries for a while. I haven’t done it in a while though. I think one of the supermarkets near here is open 24-7 – that’s why the image popped into my head, I was thinking of what would be open at an hour like this. I always tried to chat with the folks working, as if we late night souls had some secret bond.

It turns out that it’s not the supermarket right by my parents’ house that’s open 24-7. It’s the other one. I have this problem that if I walk into a store I feel guilty if I leave without buying anything, as if by stepping inside I signed some sort of contract. When I leave without buying anything store it seems like store owners glare at me. Also, if I don’t buy anything I’m afraid security is going to stop me on suspicion of shoplifting. I don’t shoplift. A lot of my friends do, or did in college at least, but I never had the guts. I know it’s silly to be afraid of being stopped when I didn’t actually do anything and they wouldn’t find anything if they searched me but it still seems easier to just buy something so they see me going through the check out line. Of course now I’m standing in the supermarket and there’s nothing I actually need. The folks restocking the shelves probably think I’m some sort of freak the way I’ve wandered up and down ever aisle like three times. And the longer I stay here the greater the pressure to buy something. I can’t just walk out now, after spending ten, fifteen, minutes here, without buying something. What sort of looser walks into a supermarket in the middle of the night, spends fifteen minutes wandering around, and then leaves without buying anything? But if you saw the whole context you’d understand that it makes perfect sense. So I either have to buy something or go up to everyone in here and explain that I was out walking because I didn’t want to be at home with my parents (I don’t think I have to explain the all details of why, I can leave that vague) and I have this image of shopping at a 24-7 supermarket in the middle of the night but the one near my parents’ house isn’t open 24-7 so I walked across town to this one but I don’t actually need anything so I’m leaving again, even though I still don’t have anywhere to go except the desert but there’s no desert around here. Buying something is going to be a lot easier. A bag of trail mix would actually be nice. It would go along well with the whole vision quest thing.

I forgot how cold it was outside. I like it. I know I won’t soon but right now I like it. It makes me feel awake. I don’t even know what time it is right now. Probably not as late as I think it is. I want to look at my watch but that feels unpoetic so I’m not going to. I might break down in a little bit and look anyway but for now I’ll keep the illusion going. I’m staring at the “no loitering” sign. Does that constitute loitering? I’m bored. I’m bored a lot. Even when I have things to do I’m bored. In fact sometimes I’m so bored I flake on my responsibilities out of boredom. I always wonder how those people who loiter could have so much free time on their hands to just, well, loiter. I have the same question about stoop sitting and rocking chairs on porches. In movies when exciting stuff happens it never seems to interfere with everyday life. Sometimes they throw a bone to everyday life, shot of the kids or laundry, but only to make a point. No one ever says “I’d love to be part of that exciting adventure and all but I have a day job and a kid to feed and a dog to walk so could we maybe pull that crazy stunt later?” Of course in my case if later was the middle of the night I’d be ready to go. I haven’t been sleeping much lately. Not so much lately as since this whole thing began. So even though I’m bored and a bit cold I’m not really tired. I think I’ve been standing here in front of the supermarket for to count as loitering.

The only place in this town I really enjoy walking is the railroad track, very old school romantic, I know. Actually I like it because you can walk in a dead straight line and don’t have to think about where you’re going. It’s pretty junky, empty soda cans and dumped mattresses and stuff like that. Kids smoke pot under the overpasses and graffiti up the backside of the warehouses along the tracks. Most of them aren’t very good, just dopey tags. A lot of them are just sharpie. There’s this one of an octopus rising up above a jungle that I really like. I always wanted to meet who did it. I thought about leaving a note for them once. I don’t even know if graffiti artists revisit the “scene of the crime”, and there’s no way he – a she would be totally bad ass – would contact me just because of some note. I wish I could draw. It’s too dark now to see the octopus now, not pitch black – some yellow makes it here from the street lights – but not enough to make out any graffiti or much of anything else. I hope I’ll notice if a train is coming. They have massive headlights but you never know. I could put my ear to the track and try to listen for it, the way Indians do in the movies. I heard somewhere that that doesn’t actually work. If I don’t get out of the way they’ll probably think it’s a suicide. I wonder how that would make the cashier at the supermarket feel, to have been the last one to see me and all. It’s a popular way to commit suicide in Japan. They actually fine the family. The idea is to bring so much shame to the family in order to deter folks from committing suicide that way because it costs a lot of money and time to clean up and totally messes with the train schedule. I’m sort of surprised no one has been hit by a train out here before, with all the kids smoking pot by the tracks.

There is a third option, aside from getting out of the way and getting hit. Thinking there are only two options is called a false dilemma in philosophy. I learned that my first year of college in my critical thinking class. I could get on the train. I mean like hop the train, the way hobos do, or used to. Back during the great depression it was a common way of getting around. People who had no money just traveled around looking for work. I knew this girl in college who was always talking about hopping trains; I don’t think she actually ever did. I just realized how crazy of a thought it is. The hopping itself is only kind of crazy. Illegal and dangerous but whatever I’m young. It’s travel though. You have to prepare for travel, bring a backpack and supplies and vittles (I’ve always wanted to use that word and this is the first time it seemed fitting). It would be totally awesome if right now, as I was thinking all of this, a train showed up and I hopped on. That’s not going to happen; it’s too storybook like. But just imagine if it did.