walking

      I choose to go on foot, "pe jos" as they would say in Romania. I make my way down the street, farther and farther from home, and approach an intersection. Stepping into the crosswalk I consider that someone expected me -- not me personally, with my name and the thoughts and intricacies and vocal inflections by which I am recognized, but me the pedestrian. I am not cut off like those in heavy metal cases that move along in solitude, nor am I protected by their doors and windows, but by a sign commanding them to allow me passage. And so I parade across the street, feeling not a little privileged, but still jogging a bit as if to say "Pardon me, I'll just be getting out of your way." I step up onto the sidewalk, back onto my pedestal. I proceed to observe the world at eye level.

      I am one with my surroundings, unhindered by even so much as a bicycle, its spokes whizzing me along like a bug hovering just above ground. No, with each step I make a landing, for that moment separated from the ground only by a thin rubber layer with canvas straps. As my foot touches pavement, I am a part of that pavement, and of the street, of the neighborhood. To passersby I am a girl in front of an old church, or passing the post office, or entering a brick library. I am a fixture, part of the scenery, a prop in their mental photographs. A gentleman glances up from his reading and sees rows, volumes, and me. He sees me between the shelves, an object among many. I cannot find my book of choice. A boy wearing sandals appears at the end of the aisle, and I silently wonder if he'd like to be friends because I am wearing sandals, too. He adjusts his backpack and looks ahead. I turn to leave empty-handed. A lady looks up at the place where I stood, but there is no void. She never saw me and therefore cannot know that I am gone.
      Dusk is settling. As if I might neglect the set change, crickets yell from the grass and trees and I don't know where else. I do not see them, but their noise is deafening and I cannot escape, so I agree to share the space with this strange orchestra. They continue their night music and I move along, taking in the sights and smells, immersing myself in this public display. I pass a group of people and see not people, but a show. Boys playing catch, girls reuniting, a boy and girl on a park bench. They do not see me. Now I am the audience and they are the spectacle. I turn and head toward home. Already I see my things inside, my mail on the counter, the dream I had last night, myself on the sofa with tea. A car passes, and the driver sees a white door labelled "E." With a step inside I am myself again, or what I know of my self. Nobody is watching, no one for me to see. I am simply and peacefully alone.