Walking... stories.

If I ever go for a walk, I often think about the people I pass or see from the sidewalk and wonder what they're doing, or where they're going, or what they're thinking. I look at a young man with his child at the park and I wonder if he has an interesting story to tell about the tatoos that crawl up and down his arms. I'm curious about the young girl with a heavy backpack, wondering if she's a good student, and wonder what her favorite subject is (or if she even likes school at all). Maybe it's not even school books in her bag. Not that it matters. I create a reality for the elderly gentleman nearby, who is walking his yappy pomeranian and smoking his tobacco pipe. The scent vaguely reminds me of someone from my childhood that smoked a pipe, though I don't recall who. Again, it probably doesn't matter.

I used to walk all the time... it used to be my way of shutting my mind off getting away from bitterness or frustration or from situations that I didn't know how to handle. After a fight with a parent or a miserable breakup, I would throw on my shoes and head for the park near my house. The bike path cutting through it led all over the west side. Sometimes I'd end up over at the house I grew up in. Other times I'd get all the way to my old elementary school. I guess it depended on the time of day/night and how cold I was getting. At one point in high school, I bumped into another troubled soul who had also taken off from her house to get away from an argument with her parents. Just as I was entering the park I noticed her and said hi. We went to school together, but hadn't really said more than a few words to each other in two or three years. I was a bit of a jock/prep/nerd type, and she hung out more with the wannabe misfits who hung out in the smoke pit and talked about Curt Cobain and Jim Morrison and the idiotic nature of the popular kids. I didn't always have to make up personalities and worlds of other people... sometimes they revealed themselves to me.

So yesterday, I went for a walk. I put my headphones in and let my mind wander aimlessly to the violins that always linger in the background of Dave Matthews' music. I strolled a few blocks and turned a corner toward the nearby strip mall. My objective: coffee. And not just coffee... but a delicious toffee-nut Americano (with cream, of course... I drink baby coffee). After turning the corner and tapping my fingers to the music in my ears, I notice a police car parked a block up the road. Since it was sitting just outside a parking lot, it seemed out of place. After a few more steps, I saw the officer standing near the corner. No radio. No radar. Just standing. He was young... maybe 30, if that. Probably got stuck here doing some sort of traffic duty while the vets ate muffins at the station or were busy breaking down the doors of meth houses. This young guy was probably thinking he'd rather be writing parking tickets than standing on the side of some road looking lost. I kept on walking, knowing that he probably had everything under control, even though he looked thoroughly bored. As I got closer to the coffee shop, I noticed another police car, this time parked in an apartment parking lot. Two officers were sitting in the car. No one in the back. No radar. No lights. Just sitting. This is even more strange, I thought. But again, I kept walking.

After reaching my desired destination and acquiring my delicious caffeine jolt, I return on the same route I came. Still, the two officers sat in their car. No lights. No radar. And again I passed the young officer on the side of the road. No radio. No radar. An ambulance then passed by the both of us, but didn't stop and kept going past. Same with a firetruck, sirens blaring. We both watched and wondered what the destination was... who was in trouble. And the officer remained, checking his pockets for something. And I kept walking.

I got in the apartment a few minutes later, wondering if the officer had a girlfriend waiting for him at home. Maybe he has a small dog sleeping at the foot of the stairs, waiting for him. I took a drink of my coffee. His job could be dangerous. How long would the dog wait? Probably a long time. Forever, if it took that long. That's the nice thing about dogs... their loyalty doesn't wane. What about the girlfriend? Is she as understanding and patient about his chosen career? Maybe... it's hard to say.

- T