Walking To The Library Tonight

Walking to the Library

Walking to the library I noticed more  about my neighborhood than when I ride my bike.  I noticed the many different types of bridges in Tenney park, arching over the little lakes, pond lilies, and blue green algae.  A pair of mallard ducks followed each other quietly, carefully careening around the other life of the water.  I noticed that the bridges seemed to be constructed all of a different design.    One was straight and stone, the other was shorter, black iron, and arced with long thin bars connecting the graceful half circle above to the straight sturdy base below.  A good person would look up the different bridges types to know them.  A good person would want to know, and perhaps research why Tenney Park has many types of bridges.  Was there a contest?  Was it an architecture project from UW?  I feel perhaps I am not that interested to know, but curious enough to wonder to myself.

I thought about Tenney Park and asked myself who was Tenney?  Do we care who Tenney was after giving us such a beautiful park?  The name fits, it sounds good, "Tenney Park", so do we care?  It works.  If it sounded funny, one might prod further.  One might ask, who would name a park after a guy named Korducki?  Korducki Park, it sounds funny.  Must be some joke about a guy who liked ducks, right?  But Tenney, why bother asking.

As I walk along this perfect path from my home on East Mifflin, off of First, between Johnson and East Wash, I realize that the people passing me on their bikes almost always grin, some nod and grin, most grin.  They look me straight in the eyes and grin, with a silent, “nice night,” or “howdy,” or, “Good for you to ditch the car.”  Heck they might think I’m a student.  I look a tad young for my age when you don’t see the grey streak in my hair, and I am toting a backpack.  Regardless, no matter what age, the people on bikes grin.  Some nod and grin.  

Other walkers, however, look to the ground when I grin at them.  Now with the bicycle rider, I was grinning in response, and noticed I was not the first to invite such a greeting.  With the walkers, I tried to continue to share the sentiment with a “hello” smile or a “nice weather” smile.  Every person I passed in the beginning of my walk was a little older than I was and not one looked me in the eyes or grinned or nodded.  In fact, i wasn’t smiling at them, I grinned, no teeth showed.  I started to wonder.  Do I have red wine stains on my mouth?  I run my lips wildly around my mouth when I saw that the sidewalk ahead of me was vacant.  No taste of wine traced on my lips or around my lips.  I only tasted the remnants of lip gloss from work.

Did my shirt get pulled up above my waistline by my backpack waist buckle, exposing my belly?  No.  Am I scary looking?  No.  In fact I am very friendly and inviting, which is one reason why I excel in sales.  I somehow have the ability to warm the coldest of hearts, crack into the hardest of shells, and practically get invited to come over for cookies and milk.  I decide not to think on this anymore.

The air smells different as the sun sets.  A woman walks a beautifully groomed black poodle across the street, and boy is he playful.  I see them walk up the steps of a gorgeous house and she opens the weather door to knock on the wood door, loudly, as if the volume were turned up high inside the house.  They may not hear unless she knocks with all of her might.  Joyfully they are welcomed into the glowing home.  

A couple of punk kids up ahead walk towards me with an albino Chihuahua and a fidgety beagle puppy.  As they pass me the guy with the Chihuahua wears large bolts for earrings and hocks a huge loogie to the other side of the sidewalk as he passes me.  I am too high on red wine find that offensive.  Instead I notice that the wall to my right is covered in a glorious thick vine which is turning a brilliant candy apple red this October.  I smell the evening again.  Dusk in October, with crunching yellow and brown leaves at my feet, smells like the moon is swimming in caramel.  It smells like coffee and large water.  It smells like sunsets and acorns, popcorn and dark beer, apples and sleepy earth.  I love autumn where I surround myself in retiring deciduous trees.

Two college boys are playing hackey sack over a badmitten net.  I never saw anyone volley a hackey with their head before this.  How fun!  How interesting!  A frowning blonde girl jogs past me with an asymmetrical head  and ridiculously short red shorts.  From behind me a tall curly redhead jogs past me and out in front of me.  She wears green shorts and looks built for absolutely anything.  Anything at all.  Throw her on the runway, strap her onto a snowboard, drop her into the ocean with a surf board, take her to the mountains, watch her jog more, she looks good it it all.  She belongs anywhere.

An awkward gangly googly-eyed boy walks past me with his cellphone snuggled to his cheek, saying, "...hehe, not the random jewish girl, hehe..."  Yeah, he wanted the random jewish girl.

I finally get my smile in return from a boy who drives his expensive car a little too far past the stop sign, cutting off my cross walk to the next sidewalk opening, so he looks me in the eyes and smiles in a “I’m cute.  It’s OK.  Right?” smile.  You know, it is OK, as I am a thirty-three year old woman whose legs are jiggling a little too much so I need the exercise and I’ll walk around his car.  He clearly needs to get lid.  I need to lose weight, he needs to get laid.  We help each other out, we are members of the same society, community, we help each other out.

The next returned smile I look away.  I catch myself.  I averted my eyes as soon as this saucy chick looked me straight in the eyes and grinned to one side.  I grin to people with both corners of my mouth curled up, and my eyebrows lift.  Its a habit.  This girl grinned with only one side of her mouth, and her eyes sat in serene confidence.  To me, it felt, well, a bit too...invitational?  It was not your grandmother's friendly grin "Hello, sweetie," type of grin.  i know it takes all kinds to make the world go 'round, but...

I see brighter lights ahead of me and I know this is State Street.  I can turn to the right and head up Henry to follow Latham to the College Library, or I can take State Street up ahead and continue my straight high paced path.  My buttocks hurt and I’m glad.  I am on the path to trading ten or fifteen pounds of chub for five pounds of muscle.  This is the plan, hence the two and a half mile walk. I silently celebrate to myself as I reach State Street.  I just walked from my house to State Street.  This is exciting.  Walking from my house to Latham, less exciting yet something to talk about.  Walking my butt to State Street earns a shinier prize, perhaps because the street itself is shinier.

And this is where I realize that though my bike from last night is parked near the library, I don’t need to write at the same library as last night.  I can just as easily order a mango raspberry soy smoothie at the Fair Trade Coffee House and spill all of these images out to you now.  Once I post this journal entry for your comments and suggestions, your thoughts and your remarks, I will walk to the old red Schwinn I got in sixth grade and ride my walking path back to my house.  I will try not to hit the car in the driveway as I ride up the steep hill, walk my bike the rest of the way over the lavender plants, take a deep breath, park the bike in the garage, and pour another glass of wine after my dogs greet me in the kitchen.  My husband will grin with twinkling eyes, pat me on the butt, and kiss me before asking me, “How was your walk to the library?”  And you, reader will already know.  It was wonderful.

Copyright 2008 Laura Beck Nielsen