I took my cat Güino outside on the landing this morning to listen to the orchestra of birds. When I turned back toward the door, I realized he was shadow boxing with the glint created by my glasses.
I like this picture because he looks real in the shadows created by the cascading light.
Knowing that the Amazon driver was going to walk up my steps, I waited. My neighbor sat on one of the two chairs on the outcropping of the landing outside of her apartment.
“Be careful,” I told the Amazon driver as he started up the stairs. “She definitely bites. She’s mean. That’s actually my girlfriend. She won’t even let me sit over there or stand near her.”
The Amazon driver quickly looked up to the top of the stairs to see my neighbor sitting in the chair facing the stairs. Between you and I, the fact that she was motionless and not reacting made her seem a little menacing.
My neighbor couldn’t decide whether to grin or to be horrified.
“Seriously be careful! She’s almost rabid!”
The driver made the turn at the top of the stairs so fast I thought he might jump over the rail to get out of there.
When I laughed, he grinned. As he made his way back toward my neighbor, I hollered. “Can I come back over there now, please?”
The driver shook his head confusedly as he went back down the stairs.
“Now that driver is going to go back and tell his coworkers that he met a woman so mean she makes her boyfriend stand at the other end of the landing when they’re outside.”
As he got into his van, he looked up at me and smiled. I waved and then circled my right index finger around my ear and then pointed at my neighbor who was still sitting in her chair.
“There goes your reputation,” I said.
A woman knelt on the sidewalk near the corner. She was talking to her small son while her slightly older daughter stood nearby. Their bikes were next to them. The mom pointed at the flashing ambulance as it turned into the hospital drive.
She explained to him what an ambulance is in the simplest words possible.
“Someone is sick,” the daughter said, jumping into the explanation.
“Someone is driving the sick person?” The young boy looked at his sister.
Mom stepped in before the daughter said something clever. “Yes. And there are people riding in the back helping the sick person until they get to the hospital.”
(I was waiting for the little girl to say something precocious, such as, “No, he gets a discount if he does the driving.)
The boy repeated the word “ambulance,” but it came out sounding only slightly recognizable.
I stood a few feet away, waiting to cross. The mom smiled at me. “I like to explain things to them. You never know what sticks.”
I smiled. “Do you know why old ambulances used to be long and odd-shaped?”
“No, I don’t,” the mom said.
“Because the first ambulances were driven by funeral homes. Up to 50% of them.”
I wish you could have seen the mom’s eyes widen. “Really? Is that true?”
“Yes, it is. That’s wild, isn’t it?”
“Now I’m going to have to go home and look all this up. How did I not know that?”
“Because of Bridgerton.” (A popular TV show popped into my head, so of course, I said it.)
“On Netflix? I love that show!”
She didn’t get the implication of my comment. I laughed and said, “See y’all later,” to them all.
Given the way she took the time to explain things to her kids, I’m convinced that she did look it up when she went home. What’s certain is that both kids will grow up to be ridiculously smart.
We’re having performance reviews at work. I can’t decide between baton twirling or interpretive dance.
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“Y’allternative” is one of those awesome words like hick-hop because it conveys exactly what you expect.
“Tie-Boned” is a word I came up with to replace “T-boned.” Instead of an accident, it’s a calamity caused by someone wearing a tie and concealing a hidden agenda. A person with dirty hands and ripped work pants can mess you up once. Someone with a tie can rig the entire system with a smile on their face.
I had a beautiful walk this morning in the stillness of the dark. Sounds carried strangely. It was easy to follow the barrel owl as it moved from block to block. I don’t know if it witnessed the strange flyover around 3:45 a.m.
The moon and the colors were beautiful this morning. Instead of trying for the perfect picture with this little rectangle of magic, I opted for the lowest resolution and the result is damn near a painting.
If fit the mood as I stood outside, temporarily away from duty and obligation.
I couldn’t help but wonder about all the people who will wake up this morning to a new reality, trying to find faces that will become familiar in time.
Pareidolia is a fancy word to describe seeing faces or patterns in everyday objects. It’s one of those words no one uses.
This morning, the air was still. Sound carried forever as I walked through secret swatches of darkness. I love knowing all the dark spots where I can see the sky or watch the bats hunt for insects. Where I come through a canopy and a hidden owl shrieks its surprise as I pass under. Sometimes I’m the one surprising the police as they park away from desolate streets or against the dark trees and foliage. I think most of them are accustomed to seeing me now.
I wouldn’t want to describe myself as necessarily normal, but it delights me that I’m the only one out at 2 a.m who’s already slept and taking advantage of the deserted world of the early morning. Everyone else is an outlier and still burning on fumes from the previous day.
The picture is an example of pareidolia. It looks like a face. That picture took 30 seconds of exposure in almost total darkness. I stood and watched the bats flit across the backdrop as I waited for the camera to reveal what was hidden.
There have been times when I dreaded seeing what might be behind the darkness. When the hair on the back of my neck stands up, or I’m certain I’m being watched. At times, adrenaline hits my system. But I stand there regardless. The biggest danger to me is pepperoni.
The Lights Of Nostalgia
I chose an odd place to walk this morning. What we called highway 68 until 1988, 38 years ago. Sunset Avenue and 412 replaced the antiquated designation because modernity requires that we erase.
I parked at Denny’s. Years and years ago, it was the home of one of the biggest machine shops in the region. Before the interstate, when the fields and narrow roads defined everything. My family lived on 48th Street, in a small house and then a trailer, both owned by the family member who employed my dad. Across the street, a little house would become Shirley’s bar. The convention center now sits in a spot that holds a lot of locked memories for me. This was before the corridor of 48th Street was cut in half by the curve of the interstate.
Almost 200 stitches in my head, nearly blinded by acid, a 70+ ft. tree that beckoned me to climb it, an almost forgotten tornado that pulled off the attachment to our trailer, and a lot of violence. But there was a lot of adventure, too. Springdale was an entirely different place then, trapped in amber and more isolated than people would believe.
I walked the length of old 68 / 412 this morning, stumbling a couple of times because of the atrocious patchwork of sidewalks. Past countless buildings and places such as the Malco theater. My brother and my cousin Jimmy were there with me on the Christmas Eve it opened. It’s hard to believe that almost 50 years have passed.
Even though there is a lot of city light now to blemish your view of the night sky, across the street from the All American steakhouse is still one of the best places to get a 360° view of the panoramic sky at night if you’re in Springdale. That spot sits in a bowl that almost no one notices is there. You almost have to be a walker to appreciate it.
I knew walking that stretch would unlock a lot of memories for me this morning. Businesses like Applebee’s come and go, historical flickers of presence that can only be appreciated if you’ve been around long enough to understand that entropy reigns and laughs at the idea of permanence.
I’ve walked so long that this sky is now transitioning into a luminous pink haze on the horizon. Much in the same way that my unlocked nighttime memories are fading.
The picture I took as I looked back toward the interstate would have been almost completely dark 50 years ago. For the briefest moment, I even remembered what the house looked like that once stood where the Phillips 66 station now stands. It’s proof that our brains have entire vaults of images and information that for some reason have been tucked away. I would take both horror and delight in remembering a lot of mine.
X
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Driving aimlessly back toward home, I stopped at one of the ponds that’s always beautiful early in the morning.
I prowled downtown Fayetteville and Dickson Street in the dark. There are always remnant people from the night before. Singing in the parking garages for acoustics, sitting bleary-eyed on curbs and benches, slurring their words and futilely trying to get their dead phones to work. Some were trying to break down equipment and food, tired and eager to get home. Even after 3:00, there were people in the back of some bars still not wanting to surrender the night. A woman waved at me from way up on her penthouse balcony, leaving me to wonder whether the drink she held was a continuation from Saturday celebrations or coffee to acknowledge that Sunday was upon us.
Across from the Walton Arts center, I made the mistake of looking at the hands of a homeless person bundled and covered on the bench. That image stuck in my head and made me feel helpless. The wheelchair sitting at the end of the bench didn’t help. I experienced the privileged dissonance of me walking around on a sleepless night in the same universe this person slept wherever they could.
On the corner of Block and West, I laughed at the unlikely coincidence of Calle’s loudspeaker choice of music, blaring alleged entertainment to no one on the abandoned streets: “X Gon’ Give It To You” by DMX. It was so random and bizarre that I would walk by at that precise moment.
I didn’t want to walk to end. The quiet darkness contained too many colors, sounds, and sights. Even the beautiful houses each had their own quiet beauty.
It was 75° with 20 mph winds early this morning. It felt amazing. Large trees creaked in the wind.
After walking a random labyrinth of city streets, I walked out of fayetteville’s clutter and into open sky.
Traffic was unusually light. Not that there’s much at 3:00 a.m., but I’ve become accustomed to recognizing the patterns.
I can’t explain what gave me the heebiejeebies as I passed the last house on 112/Garland. It was as if something or someone unseen had flickered into my peripheral vision. Goosebumps went up and down my body. It was instantaneous. A feeling of almost dread.
Watching carefully, I used my phone to zoom in, but saw no movement. Walking around to the other side of the empty house, I did the same thing. The tickle along the back of my neck did not lessen. I stood there for a minute and finally walked away without turning my head to take another look.
I love these moments when something unseen triggers my subconscious. The wind blasting through the trees and across me enhanced the feeling.
I was so excited to see my prison jumpsuit and handcuffs arrive when I got off work. Even though it’s hot, I’ve done my inaugural walk up and down busy Gregg Avenue. I couldn’t stop laughing because I could see people slowing down. I got a couple of honks.
One of my older neighbors shook his head, laughing. “You’re going to get arrested.”
🙂
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P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 