a daily walk.

My dog is staring at me inquisitively with her bulging, brown eyes and I know that she is expecting her routine morning walk. I look back at her with my own brown eyes and try to explain with them why today feels different. The hot Californian sun of late May has already ascended far above the horizon and I know that if we wait longer, it will be too unbearably hot and humid to do our usual three miles – the same three miles we’ve done together almost daily since I rescued her three months ago. And yet I am stalling. I open the blinds of the kitchen, living room, dining room, slowly and meticulously. I fill my Hydroflask bottle with tap water from the kitchen faucet and take time to drink an extra eight ounces. For my own health, I tell myself. Usually, I just slip my socked foot into my white (well, they’re gray now) Nike sneakers, but I think I better untie them, put my foot in, and then lace them up. For extra security, they felt loose yesterday, didn’t they?

A thought surfaces: What if the curfew got extended past 6? It is 6:58am. I check my phone for updates. Nothing of the sort. I don’t usually take it with me on our walks, but some instinct tells me to grab my runner’s arm band, tuck my phone into the pocket, and so I do. I also grab the “Cutest Pear” (featuring two animated pears snuggling) anniversary card I wrote for my parents last night to mail them for their 36-year celebration and tuck that behind the band on my arm. I make the mental note to take the detour to the post office box today on our route. Across some 3,000 miles that card would travel to reach them in New Jersey. I am secretly grateful that the card is making the trip and not myself. Celebrations feel wrong.

The sun also feels wrong today. George Floyd has just been killed and there is a storm happening in this country. The sunshine feels warm, inviting, happy, as I step out into her. I long for a rain cloud, grey skies, something else. There are riots in my city, mandatory curfews, looting, broken windows, broken hearts, broken lives. News channels are ablaze. Everywhere is noise, noise, noise, noise. I attached Jenny’s leash and walk the length of our brick path from front door to metal gate. I open it, pause, step out, turn back, latch it closed, and turn to the sidewalk. These walks have a way of silencing the noise. I swallow something harsh. What a privilege to be able to step away from it. The noise, noise, noise, noise.

We set out across the street. I normally enjoy how few people are out at this time of morning, but it feels eerie today. I wonder again about the curfew. I think I see a police cruiser heading in my direction, but it is just a construction truck. What am I worried about? I swallow another harsh reality as I realize I take this walk of solitude for granted every morning – never having to worry about being stopped, being questioned. We pass no one except a yippie little dog snapping at us from behind a white wall. Jenny is distracted so I move to a jog and pull her along. Fuck, I forgot to do my inhaler. I change back to a brisk walking pace. My hand clenches as I think about how quickly my lungs constrict on me – so easily they start to collapse in on themselves as asthma restricts my airwaves at any increased physical activity. Is that how George felt? I try to imagine a knee on my neck for eight minutes. It must feel like an asthma attack. I swallow my privilege again. Why aren’t there any people out? My thoughts are rapid, scattered. Noise, noise, noise, noise. We should just go home. No, post office box.

I see Jenny squat, so I instinctively reach into the bag holder that is attached to her leash and rip off one of the blue bags. She has emptied her bowels right on the patch of grass next to someone’s trash cans that are set on the street against the curb, dutifully waiting to be emptied. It is trash day and the garbage trucks haven’t done their pickup yet, so I don’t feel bad as I reach to lift open the green lid of the giant bin to throw in the smelly bag. Distracted, I have almost forgotten that we are in the middle of another global crisis – this one a disease of the body and lungs instead of the heart and mind. The coronavirus pandemic still threatens our population and I know neighbors have been testy about fellow dogwalkers touching their garbage cans and spreading unwanted germs. I want to feel bad, but I don’t. Not today, at least.

I see a familiar woman with shoulder-length black hair walking her giant, black Great Dane across the street, on her usual path. Jenny doesn’t notice them. I think of my colorblind dog and wish for a second that humans were a little more primal. Evolution fucked us up. From apes we evolved, as much as we might try to bury or deny that fact with religion or other theories. We should’ve stayed as apes. I almost trip on a raised crack in the sidewalk. Would that really be so much worse than the horrible monsters that we’ve become instead? A parrot raises a ruckus in the sky above and I am distracted because I am still not adjusted to the fact that parrots are local birds here.

There are so many wilted, lonely, dying purple blossoms littering the sidewalk. They are still damp from nightfall’s dew and they mash together as we step all over them. The fallen victims of nature. I hardly realize I have company when I look up and see a black man in a red t-shirt walking in my direction on the opposite side of the street. He is on the phone and has a beaming smile spread across his face. He meets my gaze – I wonder what color his eyes are – and we wave to each other, myself flashing a smile that will never beam as much as his. Strangers, neighbors, friends. I love you. I find myself thinking those words and it is true – I do love him. I love him for putting on his shoes, for leaving his house, for strutting the neighborhood, for still bracing himself against this country that has never been turned in his direction. I love you I love you I love you. The words circle in my head, dizzyingly, as if somehow repeating it enough times will manifest my thought into the physical world and everyone’s feelings will fall in line with mine. I love you. I glance back over my shoulder. The man is gone.