The weirdest noise filled my apartment. Even my cat lifted his head from atop his high perch on the sun-filled cat castle. I looked everywhere for the source – except for the very last place, where I found it. One set of my wireless headphones was beeping strangely. Assuming I was being pranked somehow or receiving an alien transmission, I let it beep.
Picking up my phone, I realized I had an odd notification icon at the top of my screen. It was one of the native Samsung apps, blaring that I had an important reminder. Opening, I saw that it was from a year ago.
“TIME TO PRANK! REMEMBER YOUR MISSION!”
I don’t remember the day, but obviously the September afternoon must have sparked a reminder that I needed to get back to basic craziness.
Let’s just say I cut through a place I wasn’t supposed to be. The light rain and cool breeze felt amazing as I crept through the early morning. I had to keep reminding myself that it’s still summer. Goosebumps popped up along my arms several times. Mostly it was from the breeze and the light rain. A couple of times it was from the swirling shadows and silhouettes. I had to also remind myself that as far as I knew, I was alone in the dark, and unaccompanied in my exploration. It felt like a late October night night.
The most beautiful moment happened when I took a street that I don’t normally traverse. The breeze blasted me, bringing the sound of insects and harmonious wind chimes. For some reason, I had to see the origin of the wind chimes. I was certain whoever owned them would have an oasis in the middle of and often overlooked apartment row. I was right. From the street, I could see that plants filled the stairs leading up. I could also see colored lights glowing from inside.
As I precariously climbed in darkness. I took a literal leap of faith that I was as close to the ground as I was supposed to be. Walking back around required at least a couple of miles. I didn’t mind the extra miles, of course. I just wanted to see something different.
When I came through the brush onto the trail, flashing lights filled the air. I held my phone up so that whoever I was approaching would know someone was coming out of the dark.
Someone had the misfortune of being pulled over at the very end of the street where it abutts the wildness. As soon as I got past them, I saw a pair of eyes looking at me from inside the brush of Narnia. I changed the setting to video. I did not capture whatever little creature was watching me. But I did get a kaleidoscope, courtesy of the police.
I scribbled in chalk my prediction for today’s game in a dozen places.
I got back to the apartment a little wet and a little chilly. I wish that some days I didn’t have to sleep at all so that I could explore the imaginary world of the darkness.
I had massively ornate nightmarish dreams. As a courtesy, the universe didn’t let me remember them. Instead of fighting it, I got up and within a few minutes, I was at work. Running through my duties like a madman, on a whim, I decided to drive to downtown Springdale. Even though 3 a.m. had barely made its entrance, I walked down the middle of Emma, interrupted by only one car the entire length as I walked east.
I’m glad I did. The number of temperate and beautiful early summer mornings is flying by. The walk was nostalgic because I once knew every nook and cranny of this place, down to the routines of each business, and every place where the sidewalk grew treacherous.
This place is stunning now! Maybe not to those who pass by when they are competing with others to traverse it. But in the dark? When the only sound are the insects inhabiting the green spaces interspersed along the street. Or when the owners of Buck’s Bar can be heard shouting as they playfully gather bags of clinking beer bottles, remnants of last night’s revelry.
When I turned onto Holcomb Street and after making two wide loops and circuits of the area, a barrage of distant sirens wailed. A wall of delicious aroma assaulted me as the wind tunnelled along the old Leon’s hair building. I was surprised to see a new building next to the old church at the corner of Grove. It’s built to look old and it’s one of my favorite styles. The polychromatic BierGarten still shines. For those of you who still live around here, I’m sure it’s become a backdrop and perhaps even banal. I wonder how many current residents don’t realize that the Lisa Academy contains all the old ghosts and stories of the original First Baptist Church. Before they modernized the spillways and drainage, an adventurous kid could brave walking along the edge and under the streets. I was one of them.
At exactly 3:57 a.m., the wind picked up as I doubled back on Meadow. The rustle of the large tree startled me as I looked up to see the American flag flapping hard. Its leaves are drying and in under a month, they will surrender to the ground. James + James is now a memory. Part of the building is now a nice modern pool lounge. Remember when we were young in this small town? A pool table meant you damn well better be on guard. It now guarantees a multitude of delicious beer I’m just about any modern drink you might want. As I took the picture, I laughed. I know exactly what my dad would say if he were standing next to me: “Bunch of ******s.” The sushi place by the square isn’t a place I normally would like. I’ve been there once and absolutely loved it.
I hadn’t seen the new jail since it’s completion. Even that has a severe case of overachievement. I would halfway expect to see modern art hanging in the bathrooms in that place.
Because I’m so far out of the loop, I almost fell over when I saw that Shirley’s had relocated near the railroad depot. When Springdale was nothing, I lived across the street on 48th from the house that would become Shirley’s. When the interstate hadn’t gobbled up the dirt roads and pastures that defined the beginning of West Springdale.
I’m having a severe case of nostalgia as I walk by these places. Superimposed on all of these is an emotional and visual silhouette of what once was. From the pizza place on the downtown corner, to the old theater where I saw Swamp Thing and could easily imagine that it was lurking in the old alleys of the old Springdale. Shout out to Adrienne Barbeau, by the way. I can’t think of her without thinking of my cousin Jimmy and how enamored he was of her. She rivaled even the original Farrah Fawcett poster he had in his room for decades.
I was out too early, looking to see a few spectacular meteorites from the Perseid meteor shower that is peaking this week. I know a couple of amazing dark spots in the middle of all this urban sprawl. But for some reason my feet took me west until I finally reached Deane Street. The modern trail and street lights they’ve installed are gorgeous. The first stretch looks like an infinite straight strip. On the north side, there is still a huge field that stretches north, with a northern perimeter that has surprisingly few lights to interrupt it. Facing away from the beautiful street lights, it’s one of the best urban views of the northern sky that can be had. It was beautiful before they modernized Deane. It’s still beautiful now, albeit in a different way.
As I walked, I stopped for fifteen seconds every few minutes so that I could watch and scan the sky for meteors. The third time I did so, I saw something running along in the tall grass. It turned out to be a small fox. Further along, I realized it was interested in me. I took out my camera and stood still. That’s how I got this amazing photo that is everything except the fox.
Shortly thereafter, at about 2:45 a.m., the blare of distant police and fire sirens to the south caused unseen animals out in the expanse of the field to howl and yap. I stopped about 100 yards away from the modern veterinary lab on Deane, listening in appreciation. A couple of barn and equipment buildings silhouetted against the sky. And that’s when I got to see my first meteorite streaking like a casual hello. It was short-lived but brilliant. That’s about all you can ask for. A couple of miles of walking in the dark gifted me with the briefest of illuminations.
As the economy sputters, and as I watch people seemingly dive into erroneous faith that encourages attitudes better left behind us, I stole that damn moment. Of course I would rather see a dozen meteorites. But it is the first bite of pizza that delights, or that split second when you lean in for the kiss you’ve waited for. Everything else is saturation and overindulgence.
An hour later, I still couldn’t bring myself to turn around. So I looped and walked along the mega car stores and the perimeter of the interstate. Absent traffic, there were amazing views of the night sky. Once you reach Chicory Place, you’ve encountered what I call Pocket Narnia. No street lights. No buildings. Animals and critters creeping without worry. It is a snippet of a perfect night view. The sound of insects holds its own against the background rumbling of the interstate that now seems to be five miles away. I can’t imagine that this little piece of Narnia will survive much longer, much like the original Narnia at the end of Leverett. “Everything changes, but not all of it is progress.”
When I took a minute to kneel and chalk a message on the concrete near the desolate Sam’s club, whoever was driving by slowed to a crawl. I ignored them, But also wondered what they thought they were seeing as they watched me leave a message, One that was almost Ecclesiastical.
I was lucky today. Despite walking too many miles, my accidental route didn’t drag me linearly. Had it done so, I would have had to call a friendly Uber to get back home. It amuses me that when I’m out here and forget time, it feels as much like home as sitting in my office chair.
I’m probably the only one I know who appreciates how beautiful Garland/112 is on these early summer mornings before the sun even considers gracing us. I walked right down the middle of this road that is still somehow two lanes. The dome of the sky enveloped me. The modern buildings the U of A intermittently installed become invisible. The view from there is largely the same as it was seventy years ago.
As I came parallel to the Y-park, I turned and stopped to listen to the ocean of insects and to briefly remember a late night there forty years ago. My second meteorite of the night interrupted my reverie. If I didn’t know better, I might swear that the universe is trying to remind me that there are no moments unworthy of distraction.
I find some interesting things when I’m wondering around. This morning, I found a few eight-track tapes on the edge of the street and the sidewalk. As if someone had driven by and tossed them out every hundred feet. I amused myself by trying to imagine who drove through sometime last night and chose to toss them out the window. Did they come flying from a vintage car? Was the person who tossed to them someone who bought them when they were released?
Eight-track tapes came to the United States in 1965. By the time these were popular, Glenn Miller had already been dead twenty-one years. He was another artist I didn’t appreciate until my Uncle Buck told me to listen to his big band style with a different ear. Glenn Miller once ruled his corner of the musical world. But now he’s an increasingly forgotten relic of the past.
I like moments like these before the sun comes up. A random find brings nebulous memories back from the dead.
I’ve decided that the person who discarded these decided that the owner of a carefully maintained 1966 Ford Galaxie took his old car out for one more drive. Ford was the first company to put 8-track players in their vehicles in the United States.
I’m not a car enthusiast, but when I was younger I involuntarily learned an encyclopedia of information about cars. Because of innovation, all that knowledge is just trivia now.
Like Glenn Miller, we will all be footnotes. I guess I better walk a little faster before time races past me.
.
The Langoliers haven’t arrived yet. People might not get the reference. But I’m always looking at things and admiring how pretty they are when they are static and waiting for people to inhabit them.
Sitting on the landing while attempting to hold and contain my cat while drinking a cup of coffee, I had the strange sensation that if I did not get up right then and take a walk, that I might not do it again.
Within two minutes, I was out and headed north. Even though I didn’t think about it, I was headed right down the throat of daylight commerce. Except at 3:00 a.m., It’s a ghostland. Everyone is in a hurry unless they are driving to avoid detection.
When I went over the crest looking out onto the interstate interchange, the breeze hit me again. I stopped for a moment to watch the stillness and the kaleidoscope of lights. It’s not supposed to be pretty, but of course it was.
I’m in Springdale now, knowing I probably can’t walk all the way back without the risk of my legs getting wobbly. I’m not quite ready to sit down in the red rocking chair in my living room and stay there.
When I neared the crest opposite Lake Fayetteville where the Lewis and Clark building sits empty and watches, the breeze off the lake felt like salvation.
I’m going to keep going for a while. In the off chance this could indeed be the last time I take such a walk. The only reason we get through a lot of days is because we don’t know when we’re experiencing the last of something -or watching some on way now do the same.
Although I originally wasn’t feeling it, once I got out there, another late night/early morning long walk was exactly what I needed. The usual suspects were there to greet me: drunk drivers, cats skulking, possums and skunks skittering, and random dogs barking at my audacity to walk by. I probably should apologize to one group of houses because I couldn’t resist barking back so that the dog objected even louder against my presence. When I made the long loop around and back across the interstate, one dog wagged its tail in the dark and let me pet it as it sat patiently under the beautiful modern street lights along Deane.
A man sitting perfectly still next to his house on Sang Avenue made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. The house had only a few feet between it and a chain link fence bordering the sidewalk. I assume he belonged there rather than being someone who didn’t because he was sitting on something and mostly hidden by the bushes.
Totally unrelated: did you know that the circumference of your calf muscles bears a strong correlation to how long you are likely to live? It sounds like a scam but the science is there to back it up.
Did you know that the world record for a person holding their breath underwater is 24 minutes and 37 seconds? Tell me again that human beings aren’t fascinating.
Because I’m out and about at the weirdest times, I often notice patterns, even when I’ oblivious to them for a long time. It’s hard to define what looks off or weird, but once you recognize it, you pay attention, even if only in passing.
And that’s where the unavoidable urge for shenanigans started.
I mentioned the specifics to a friend, which was an error on my part. Because once I vocalized my idea, it became an imperative.
I’d noticed that people were acting suspiciously. I don’t mean the “they voted conservative” type of suspicious. Walking in zigzags, looking around way too much, and reaching on top of places that normally aren’t touched. (Unless you are a pigeon.)
It took me two times to realize that what they were retrieving was something another person was leaving in the agreed upon place. Which lead me to the conclusion that whoever was leaving the item had a line-of-sight to the spot. I’m sure they were watching from one of the apartments on either side. Since the trees have been removed in that area, visibility is much better for nefarious activity. And bird watching. I had my doubts about the bird watching.
Which meant I had to be careful. Or go in disguise. It’s not like I could drive up in my inconspicuous bright blue little car, jump out wearing my cape, and startle the participants. I thought about putting on my squirrel mask and magic cloak to avoid being identified. Instead, I put on my weird winter hat and a mask, walked calmly up to the spot, and left several notes in the place in question. I’m sure having a winter hat on in the pre-dawn heat didn’t look the least bit suspicious. After all, I’ve seen people walking the street wearing their bed blankets.
I didn’t stick around to see what happened. Not just because I had to get to work, but because while I can run fast and creatively, I’d rather not try to outrun objects traveling at high velocity.
I’ll take bets that a couple of people made some strange faces when they found the notes I left.
I was a little vague in this post – and for obvious reasons.
Even though I’ve been a little too much in my head, this shenanigan made it much better.
I’ll include pictures of the some of the notes I left for the people who need to be less obvious in their attempts to break into dubious capitalism. You have to D.A.R.E. to make a profit, after all.
Don’t ask how far over the bridge I had to hang to take this picture in low light without a flash. I snapped it at 3:33 a.m. I’m not sure why I love this picture so much. I’m still on a long walk across Fayetteville. The U of A was gorgeous with both beautiful buildings and homes surrounding it. It’s a different experience at that hour, with strategically placed lights that disappear in the day. The crescent moon watched me as I navigated through places I should not have gone thanks to the road construction on West Maple.
Because I did not plan my route, the series of hills made me breathe harder than an octogenarian watching Dancing With The Stars. When I made my way back north, the breeze was a godsend. I was sweatier than JD Vance at a La-Z-Boy auction.
Another beautiful walk. I’m not home yet because I overestimated the arc of how far south I went. The incessant buzz of insects keeps me company as I wander.
Every new shiny place I passed was originally something else. Sometimes it clicks what those buildings used to be. 10 years ago. 50 years ago. I’m not sure whether these buildings are more historical than I am.
A huge bolt of lightning shook the neighborhood shortly before 1:30 a.m. Even though it’s rare for me, I had miraculously fallen back to sleep after waking up around midnight. I was dreaming so intensely that the lightning strike seemed to have followed me out of the dream. I’m certain that one part of the dream resulted from a conversation I had yesterday when I explained that I track how many days old I am.
It’s rare for me to remember my dreams vividly. Since my sleep pattern switched a few years ago, my brain retreats to a dead place that is more akin to hibernation than sleep.
Today is my first day off work all year. It didn’t occur to me that this was the case until late last week. I decided I would make the final decision as to whether I would work when I woke up this morning. And that if I didn’t go in, I would take a ridiculously long walk. I had to wait for the storm front the mostly move away. For those of you who weren’t up at 1:30, the lightning show was amazing.
I work with several hard workers who don’t get to enjoy the incredible benefit of paid time off. Some of them are losing almost a couple of hundred dollars per pay period because we lose the hours once we are capped out at the maximum. All of us appreciate that we work for an employer with good benefits. But all of us feel the cringe of being put in a situation where we can’t enjoy it because of understaffing. Whether I should say that or not is another issue. But everyone knows that burnout is unsafe for us as individuals and as workers.
Perhaps they grind of work is training for the upcoming economic mess. There is no doubt it is coming and its tendrils will affect all but a few of us. I can picture my grandma saying, “there ain’t no belt tightening when someone has taken your belt.”
My long walk was beautiful. The strange misty glow of the early morning-late night after rain lights. The smell from the rain and the clingng heat. The empty roads that I walked down the middle of. A family of raccoons that complained as I unknowingly walked by. An unseen young woman on one of the balconies of the beautiful modern apartments flanking Gregg, as she beautifully and melodically sang a song I wasn’t familiar with, and a song probably unwelcome to the ears of the other residents. (But for me, as an accidental audience, it was perfect.) The long stretches of both hill and road. The night time summer sky billowing with retreating white clouds. The occasional person on a scooter; some of them involuntarily participating in the morning.
I hated giving up ownership of the streets. Leaving the unobserved and frozen in time houses with all the residents tucked away inside.
It’s hard to explain how rounding a corner and seeing strange orange glow of a section of road brings on the same feelings that “Something Wicked This Way Comes,” or “Stranger Things ” It’s just a stretch of road illuminated by optical illusions. But you weren’t there when I looked to my left and saw a ground light being temporarily blocked by a cat who was creeping along the edge of the driveway. It was accidental synchronicity and caused the hair on my arms to stand. I stopped to take a picture of the light. But that’s all it is. People sound a little off when they try to express how such little moments are entirely different when they are experienced.
The same is true for most of us when we listen to someone describe their dream. The narrative loses the immersive magic that held the storyteller captive while they were experiencing it.
X
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(I added the word death to the mailbox as a joke…)
…
The dream:
Instead of a tombstone, the grave was marked by a tall crystal spire. Somehow, I knew that it wasn’t an actual grave and that inside whatever what was in the ground was nothing more than a DNA sample.
The sun peeking through the trees was orange red and seemed off in a way I couldn’t precisely explain.
Even the air felt thin and reprocessed.
The dash of the dates didn’t initially make sense: “1967-23,666.” Then I realized whoever designed it knew about my penchant to calculate my age based on the number of days instead of years.
Turning my head, I saw that four people stood behind me. Each of them carried a vial of colored sand. The sand shown brilliantly, like ground diamonds.
They didn’t speak English but I understood them.
“Does anyone have anything they would like to say?” I couldn’t see who voiced the words.
“No. I think he said it all before he left.”
As I turned my head again, the four people moved closer. I didn’t step away. They passed through me as they approached the spire. I felt like I had become mist.
Each of them opened their tiny vials and poured the contents into a almost invisible seam about halfway up the spiral. Flashes of almost every color began washing over the grass around them.
They disappeared as the sky became dark, like a sped up movie traversing time. As I watched the sun slide down the sky, my field of vision collapsed into a single dot of rainbow colored light and then disappeared.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 