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June 18, 2005
Walking distance - dead engine
When I was 16 she was 22 and she liked a lot to walk. I remember, at that time she wore red-dust blonde hairs in a ponytail and Black, 2132 New-Wayfarer, clipped over a terrific long neck.
We used to walk for three or four days at a time, once or twice a year.
Walking together demands agreement in timing.
Hands loose, brained in a larger design, generous, light long fingers in a slight tan.
I did not wear a watch. She did not wear a bracelet. Picked a direction and walk that way until bored.
It’s hot in the summer though, so that sucks.
The more you walk the more likely you are to do it. Drink tropical juice and feel it oozing, walking like you know where you’re going and everything is lovely and luscious and exciting.
We liked to walk. When we were to find a long distance path, we started by looking for paths that go along coasts or down river valleys. These paths tend to have towns or villages at intervals, and towns or villages tend to contain comfortable places to stay and nice places to eat.
A reasonable distance between towns or villages is about four hours walking.
When we broke up by graduation, and over the summer I decided I was going to become an actor. And, after one semester, I changed into a major in the Writing, Speech, and Drama.
When I was 26 she was 32 and she liked a lot to walk. I remember, at that time she wore a sleeveless cutlass cotton shirt, no collar, bottom button loose, a black leather belt with silver buckle and D&G linen pants.
I saw her on a promo trip with a group of French photographers parading testimonials for a firm in Washington, CT.
“Do you like my girlfriend?” she asked.
I think sometimes you expect to be terrific, then yes, that is a disappointment.
We walked miles and walked hand in hand down Kings Highway, the three of us.
We meet the girlfriend's daughter at the top, wearing a black turtleneck and a plaid skirt, with brown boots. The two went through lengthy mind numbing explanations of their own experience from owning all the Beatles albums.
Girls always have big plans, imaginary or otherwise inaccessible.
I was walking with the three girls, pushing them along the walkways in a rumba, heading for the train. We were laughing it up. Some loud voices startled me and I half turned as two people passed by. One was a very obnoxious drunk man of about 5' 4", spitting as he talked, being insulting; the other person was a reddish-blond. I let them go, even happier now. We caught our breath.
Sometimes I like to walk around with a gun in my pocket. It reminds me of those days.
When I was 32 she was 38 and she liked a lot to walk. I remember, at that time I could spot these visible open-drainage adits from post liposuction surgery over hand built black one-sandals, wary feet in the summer’s haze and a Gucci's mini flap bag.
She was married at that time, love a luxury she could not afford, she said. But as I could see she matured and she had become cautious.
I had spotted her on walkarlington.com looking for a walking companion to hit the trails in and around the Ballston area, which is where I live now.
We hit the Golf Course several times and the promenade and had many of those delicious Jamba-Juice serves up from a vendi-mech, a beautiful hot pink robot-like thing along the way. We were standing at the end of Ridley's Walk, looking west towards the Orchard. The archway at the far end leads to Ivy court, and the building on the right is the old Master's Lodge.
We both stick tongues out with the same sign and grin.
“April has to be the worst month for shopping but somewhere between work and shopping I've found some cute shoes from Neiman Marcus”, she said and looked down into the paper bag.
Starring at her ponytail and laughing, eyelashes and tip of her nose I promise, one of these days, I'll learn how to maintain perspective.
© Fortunato Caragliano, Published by HandToothNail, 2005
Posted by lck at June 18, 2005 08:27 AM
