The old man got stopped twice as he walked six mile-long laps around the block. He walked laps because he didn’t like to be too far from his bathroom.
Second lap, a new guy down the street a couple houses stopped him. And started talking. The old man waved his hand, stopped his timer and turned off his MP3 player. Removed an ear bud. He hated to get stopped, but folks just couldn’t seem to grasp he was on a timed “run” listening to a classic novel. And didn’t want to break stride nor miss a plot twist. But the guy was calling out his name and looked about to make a tackle.
The other day, the old man had seen this guy kneeling in the front yard. In this community, means either some irritating weeds or a heart attack. Maybe an irrigation problem or a stroke. The old man hollered, “Hey, you need help getting up?” The old man thought that was funny. We all need help getting up.
His name was Joe and they had met maybe three times by now but the old man wasn’t about to waste space in a fading brain on the neighbors’ names. Were you serious last week or were you pulling my chain, he asked. Chain, the old man told him.
Because I have… and the neighbor was off. Bad back, bad stomach, overweight, some disease hard to spell. The old man told him he had much the same issues. That’s why I lost weight, that’s why I sat on a ball for six years, that’s why I walk so far so hard every day, the old man told Joe. A cold wind blew. Oh, I could never do that, Joe said as the old man explained the many routes to recovery.
Exactly, he thought as he studied his stopwatch and hoped his audio-book would start at the same page.
Somebody else yelled, where’s your big dog? He won’t keep up, the old man explained, turning his head without breaking his stride. Dog wants to stop and smell every bush.
The old man couldn’t turn his head so good anymore.
Two laps later, the old man could see another neighbor by his garage winding up and that neighbor calls out to him, again by name. People remembered the old man’s name like he was a celebrity. Enough to make him paranoid. And he had just gotten back in the groove. Which took longer to do these cold spring mornings. He hated to get stopped but this was a nice guy. Harmless enough.
Nice guy, but no more than a wave in the last five years. Chubby type, religious churchgoer and his grandchildren visit him regularly; the old man had nothing in common with him. Did you hear Chuck died and points across the street. So that was Chuck’s name. The old man and Chuck had conversed once or twice in the last few years. The old man didn’t know about Chuck’s Sunday morning habits but he was a chubby type, a Realtor whose grandchildren visited regularly.
Chuck’s daughters, both of them, have been here for days and they plan to sell the house. Kidney failure and liver failure and some other failure which led to heart failure. I am sure it did, the old man thought.
The neighbor said his own mother had recently passed away at the age of one-hundred-and-three. The old man did not ask about the cause of her death. Sorry for your loss, he said.
And started walking harder and faster than he had in months. Harder wasn’t as much fun as faster. Faster got harder every year.
But the old man was looking forward to the next step. Had to. Always. He hated to get stopped.
