Nightwalking

9.13.09

Tonight, I went to go it alone. I went to race into the night to take as much as I could from it. Tonight, I nightwalked. I hadn't done it alone in a long time--since May. My old best friend introduced me to the phenomenon of nightwalking-- a visceral travel through empty lands, discussing reality, politics, life, morality, virtures and/or just bullshit. But, that's another story for another time I suppose. Craving a good nightwalk to sort thoughts, and discover meaning, I parked my car in front of the UWMC, got out, put my hoodie on, and started walking. The melancholy that underlies walking alone at night began to take hold, and I heard voices coming from a table outside the concession building at Marathon Park. A guy and a girl sitting there glanced at me briefly and continued on with their conversation. I continued walking through the darkness beneath the towering pines of Marathon Park, irrationally fearing a serial killer would jump from the darkness and stab me in the lower abdomen and run off leaving me bleeding in the moonlight. I exited the park and walked on down S. 17th Avenue, unscathed, contemplating friendship and virtues as I walked the moral plank. After I had finished walking over the expansive McCleary Bridge into Rib Mountain, I had decided to take a right on a dark street, "Goose Lane" it goes by. A dark, odd little off-street with no buildings on either side which leads up to an obscure walkway to the main drag I had intended to walk to. About halfway down the dark empty street, a mysterious figure darted across one side of the dark road to the other dark side about 15 yards ahead of me. It was either a deer running on its hind legs or it was a human. It was indeed a human. I wanted to press on and see what the hell this person was doing but biology said no and I turned back onto the street I had came from and walked to the main drag from that street instead. I took a right onto North Mountain Road down to a convenience store/gas station called "The Store". I walked up to the empty place, passing under the bright white lights of the gas pumps, passing a crowded sports bar nearby only to find "The Store" locked. I traveled back the way I came to another gas station/ convenience store, "Mobile", which was open. I careened down the perfect green lawn of the embankment leading to the parking lot and walked inside. A lone female cashier was mopping the floor and was startled by my dark hooded appearance. I wandered confusedly, not knowing what I was looking for. Figuring I had better get my act together, I grabbed a bottle of ice blue Gatorade and proceeded to the checkout counter. The cashier looked at me suspiciously as I asked her for paper so I could write down the thoughts you are now reading. I signed off on the $1.58 bottle of Gatorade and stole the pen. As I walked away she asked me, "you're not going to kill yourself, are you?" "No, but thanks for asking", I replied, as I walked through the automatic door into the empty parking lot, forever separating us. I struggled foolishly to open the cap. That shit was on tight. As I broke open the seal, a Jeep drove past me. As the vehicle passed, the girl in the passenger seat looked back at me, like I was some sick, deranged animal, hopelessly wandering the streets of the deserted Autumn town. I pressed on, as I only could have, back the way I came. Walking back over the McClearly Bridge, cheap ass shit cars full of people my age passed by me. I knew what was going on in them. Bowls were being passed around, someone was finger fucking their girlfriend in the backseat as the passenger slipped into a drunk coma and the driver was too dismayed to notice anything. I had been there, even long before. I suddenly felt twice my age, a person who left my demographic years before my time. As I was contemplating this bizarre and fairly horrible feeling, I noticed a Mountain Dew can sitting atop the rail of the bridge. Realizing it would either fall off into the water or onto the sidewalk of the bridge, I grabbed it and took it with me, to be properly disposed of in the correct receptacles along with the Gatorade bottle. I had done my good deed for the day. It kind of made up for everything else I had done that day. Traffic was unusually high for this time of night, but it was early Sunday morning after all, and it had died down a lot since I set off. Going back to my car, I passed a horrible little institution called "Your Sports Authority", which sells sporting goods apparently. From it emanated a repulsive 'macho attitude' which threatened to overtake all I had accomplished that evening. I've always been one to shy away from organized competition although I am quite competitive. I know the types who frequent those places. Macho gym teachers who fucked passed out drunk girls at college frat parties, like rough sex with their submissive wifey and have two young boys who like baseball. Excuse me while I vomit. I entered back through an opening in the wrought iron fence surrounding the dark recesses of Marathon Park. Wandering along the lighted path I saw many of the trees there had black and white x's spray painted onto them. I wondered what these vague symbols meant for the fate of these unknowing conifers. The guy and the girl at the table were still there talking as the clock passed 2 a.m., a pair of cyclists peddled by in the distance. I chucked the Mountain Dew can and the Gatorade bottle into the trash bin outside the smoke shack, made a sharp left at Garfield and S. 7th back up to my car. I got back in my BMW (plug), turned on my iPod and hit shuffle. "Samson" by Regina Spektor began to play and it reminded me of someone, someone I used to know, a girl who I was afraid to love. I remembered her words and I thanked 'God' for the beautiful simplicity of the world, for my life, for the things I saw and had yet to see.