I Keep Walking

I walked by his car today.

It was there, in my neighborhood,
at the top of the hill in front of the church.

Completely unexpected.

There I am
on my way to the rose garden.
Out for a much-needed afternoon walk.

I see the car, the color (a hundred like it in this city),
the front bumper with no license plate (a handful like that in this city).
On the inside, two drinks in the cupholders.
On the back, the license plate that begins with 4KCA . . .

Oh.

Oh.

My feet keep walking as my mind registers that it’s his car.

I should be afraid—
shouldn’t I?

Out of nowhere, the thought: Maybe it’s not his car anymore.

My eyes take in the two men working in the churchyard.

After all, I don’t know it’s his car. He could have sold it.
He could be driving around in heaven-knows-what and I wouldn’t know.

I wouldn’t know! How can I protect myself from what I don’t know?
I don’t want to not know!

My feet keep walking.

Thank goodness he’s not in the car.
What the hell’s it doing there?
What’s he doing there?
Is he in the rose garden?
In one of the shitty apartments across the street, buying drugs?
Did he park all the way up here to go down the hill to the business district?
No, no way. He’d never walk this far if he didn’t have to. He’s too much of a wuss.

I keep walking.

Jeez—what am I going to do on my way back? Am I going to walk past his car again?
I could cross the street,
go a different way.

I sigh. I am so tired of being afraid.

Maybe the car won’t be there when I get back.

Maybe none of this matters because it’s not his car anymore.

If he sold it, I wonder what he’s driving now?

If only I had a friend who was a computer hacker.
We could hack into the DMV records and find out whether he still owns this stupid car.
(Where’s Veronica Mars when you need her?)

I keep walking.

Down the hill, up the hill, into the rose garden.

Is this going to be the day?
The day I run into him?
Damn. I should have cleaned up my makeup before I left the house.
Maybe, if I keep my scarf pulled way up like this,
he won’t even recognize me.

I walk down the steps into the rose garden.
I try to feel my body connected to the earth.
Solidify myself.
I wish I didn’t feel so . . . insubstantial.
I start thinking about dinner.

I look at my hands in their black fleece gloves.
I think, Maybe the gloves will make it easier on my hands if I punch him.
I smile.

I keep walking.

I look at the trees, the bare rose bushes, have an imaginary conversation with a friend.
But my mind always goes back to the car.

As I wind my way along the paths, my eyes check all directions, just in case.
But he’s not there.
Just a woman feeding the wild turkeys, cracking peanut shells between her teeth,
then throwing the nuts to the birds.

I climb the steep hill out of the rose garden.

The car is still there.

I’m on the opposite side of the street and I decide to stay there.
My eyes scan the apartments, the churchyard, the street, looking for danger.

I stare at the car as I pass it. I notice a sticker on the rear bumper.
He wouldn’t put a sticker on his car—
would he?

As I walk, I keep my eyes focused ahead of me,
taking in as much of my surroundings as I can.
I don’t want to be caught by surprise.

Where would he be?

What if he’s renting a room at the church to see clients? (a revolting thought!)
What if he’s dating someone in the neighborhood?
What if . . .

What if it’s not his car anymore?

I keep walking.

Maybe, when I get home, I can drive back up here, park,
and wait to see who comes back to the car.

What am I, a stalker?
No, I reassure myself. It’d just be like a detective on a stakeout.
Yeah, and how long am I going to sit there, in the dark,
waiting for something to happen?
Don’t I have better things to do with my time?

I keep walking.

When I get home, I lock my front door.
I am not going back out.

I do not freak out or burst into tears.
I do not call anyone.
I do not Google him.

Except for a funny feeling in my head
—a slight fogging up—
I am . . . fine.
(Fine being a relative term.)
I guess that’s progress.

At least I don’t freeze in panic anymore.
I just keep walking.