Saturday, May 12, 2012

A Matter of Perspective


                “Bite me,” the man snarled at me as my bike tires screeched to a stopping halt. He stared back at me, his tiny Welsh corgi sniffing in the grass beside the trail, causing the leash around his neck to form a tight line across the path.
                “Oh, I’m…I’m sorry,” I replied. And I steered my shiny new blue bike into the grass around his dog. I followed the path for a bit longer, passing some hardcore cyclists in skin clinging body suits that gave me a condescending frown as if I were not worthy to share the trail. Garbage littered the sides of the path – empty McDonald’s bags and soda cans and the occasional used condom left from spontaneous forest teenage fornication.
                I hung my head low, turned around, and rode my bike back home.
---------------------

                It took me a few weeks to save up the money and work up the courage to wander, completely clueless, into a bike shop.
                “Can I help you?” a young guy asked as the store front door bells jingled at my entrance.
                “Yes, well…I think I want to buy a bike. The last time I had a bike, I was like thirteen so I’m a little bit clueless about what I need to get.”
                The worker was an obvious bicycle aficionado – he explained to me the different types of bikes and brands and prices and sizing and my mind swirled with all of the options – when did bikes become so complicated?
                “Try this one,” he said, lowering a bicycle with a navy blue frame and white trim onto the floor in front of me.
                I awkwardly swung my leg over the frame, positioned myself into the seat, and unsteadily pedaled forward. Wobbly as a drunken sailor, I barreled through the middle of the store, until I came to a stop inches from a group of customers.  
                I lowered my feet to the floor. “I like this one. Can I get it today?”
---------------------

                “This court sentences you to one year in the county jail,” the judge’s sturdy voice echoed over and over in my mind and I counted on my fingers… January, February, March, April, May…June, July. July…July…this is such a long time. How, how will we ever make it through this? What, what should I do?
                I cried, for a long time, I cried.
                And then at some moment, when I could no longer produce tears, I realized – I was going to have to get through this time one way or another. I have no power to change this outcome. I had to stay positive, stay optimistic – it was up to me whether the temporary loss of my best friend would throw me into a depression or be a life lesson. Change was going to come, whether I wanted it or not.
---------------------

                “April 10th, Say Anything at the Water Street Music Hall” – I clutched the ticket between my fingers and read it over and over again. “Doors open 6:00PM,” – I looked at the clock, the back-lit screen flashed “6:30.”
                I got into my car and drove towards the venue. A line weaved around the sidewalk outside of the concert hall, and I circled and circled around the block – my heart racing, palms sweating. I pulled into a parking lot, and alone, I walked to the back of the line.
---------------------

                I decided to ride my bicycle down to the public farmer’s market today.
                I crossed over this bridge and slowed down, lingering for a while – gazing at the river at each side of me, a sight I had never witnessed in this city. Actually, the bridge had a nice arch to it, so it was a little bit tough to get up the slope and it slowed me down considerably, but it was more like it majestically decreased my pace so I could admire the scenery. At the other side of the bridge, I merged onto a path, passing a nice young bearded fellow on a bike headed the opposite direction. He smiled. I smiled. In my mind, we shared a moment of – “hey we’re both chubby, pale, indoors-y people, look at us doing outside things!”
                I continued down the path, tracing the river, until I reached the city and ventured to the sidewalk to continue my journey. Once I reached the road where I needed to turn, I decided that I was really just enjoying the thrill of exploration and began to take a series of random and unrelated turns at my heart’s whimsy. Actually, there was construction on the road I needed to go down and as I attempted to create a detour, I got very, very lost.
                I circled around the streets, trying to find my way back the river. And around me, I was surrounded by things. There were people I didn’t know, buildings I never knew existed, streets with names I’d never encountered. These are the things that frightened me – that scared me from ever being alive.
                I passed a group of people in the middle of a little park – a family, children and seniors gathering to take photographs under a large white tent next to a table full of fruit salads and freshly grilled hot dogs. Nearby, a woman in raggedy torn clothes dug through a trash can. A young guy walked with two golden retrievers and a couple walked hand-in-hand to a restaurant. A large group was gathered around an arena in caps and gowns, snapping photographs with well-dressed parents and grandparents holding "congrats grad" signs.  Life was everywhere.
                After a lot of aimless wandering, I stumbled upon a street that looked familiar: the sign - Water Street. This was the place that I had seen one of my favorite bands, where one of my favorite musicians walked right passed me. I knew where I was now.
                I headed back towards my home. Along the way, I passed another familiar building – the hall of justice. This is where the courtroom is at, where he was taken away. The place I left in tears, months ago.
                As I continued down the road, I found myself at the other side of the river that I had followed before. I looked across and recognized the buildings I had seen just an hour ago, the place that I had just been. At the end of the road, I had an option – I could continue along the road I had been down so many times, or I could follow the path along the river, of which I was uncertain exactly where it would lead.
                I stopped to sit on a rock and have a drink of water. When I got back on my bike, I steered towards the river trail, and a man was walking by. I nearly cut in front of him.
                The man just smiled and held his arm out to the side, gesturing for me to pass, “have a good day!” He said.
                “You too.”  


No comments:

Post a Comment