I walked in our neighborhood recently and crossed paths with a woman, a young girl, and their dog. I assumed it was a mother and daughter—maybe the woman was a nanny, relative, or family friend and that the dog was theirs too. The girl looked like she was three or four years old and the dog looked like a terrier mix, with fawn colored fur, a broad muscular chest, and a black snout like a Cur. He was leashed and as I got closer, he slowly positioned himself in front of the girl and didn’t take his eyes off me. The girl waved shyly and smiled and when I waved and smiled back, she smiled even more and their dog visibly relaxed. Then the woman nodded at me too.
The park and school are just a block away from our house and a gathering place for families, grade school children, and older youth. It was an early fall day, and the sky was deep blue. I looked back at them as I walked further and saw the girl and dog looking back at me too, so I waved at her again. The I turned and pulled the hood of my hoodie over my head. It wasn’t cold, but the hood felt cozy and stealth. I was grateful that she didn’t see me like that from the start and happy that my head and face were visible. It might have made her nervous and she may not have been so open.
While I walked my usual short loop around the park, further north, then west and back home, I thought back to when our daughter ran through this park with us and with her friends when she was very young. When she played on the playground equipment, she sometimes asked us to lift her up so she could gran on to the maypole spinner. Sometimes she was flung into the wood chips below as we slowly increased the speed. The first time it happened she was startled and I was alarmed. I almost lurched forward to coddle her and then remembered that If I don’t show concern, she probably won’t either. From then on, we laughed when it happened and she’d ask us to spin her again.
Songs :: I Am the Black Gold of the Sun by Nuyorican Soul, Trans Continental by Shaggy Mane, and Late Show by Laurie Anderson
© C. Davidson