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The Walk- An Essay in Memory of Clare

Part 1:

I walked up to Big Bend the other night. I never intended to walk that far. I just decided to leave the confines of my neighborhood, and that’s the way my feet went.

I felt audacious. I was a leisurely walker. A LEISURELY WALKER! Usually, when you’re taking that boring, same-every-day drive home from work, you just see the fitness freaks being all fit. I felt like I was breaking the rules by being laid-back.

I had my headphones on, listening to Ani, walking pretty fast, but feeling chill. My fingers strummed the air and my wrists snapped the down beat. But I was doing it in a way that I thought was subtle, so like, no one driving in their car- bored out of their mind, happened to look at me and think I was nuts, playing air drums walking along Clayton Road.

Why was I walking there anyway? I didn’t want people looking at me. I had nothing to show. And anyway I was being leisurely…

So I decided to look at them. The stressed out mom, trying to get home in time to cook dinner for her unappreciative kids and tired husband. The tired husband going back to the tired house who certainly doesn’t mind watching a mid-twenties wagging her ass down the street. The guy and the girl smiling on their cell phones as they talk to their significant other on the drive home.

The cars whooshed by me in an inconsistent drone. There were no fitness fanatics around. So Ani and I sang some harmony.

I tried taking a different route back, but wasn’t successful. Even though it was over 70 degrees, there was still ice on the sidewalks and I was running into some bad patches. While rerouting to avoid the ice, I got stuck in some of those loop-around neighborhoods that left me walking a lot without actually getting anywhere. Step by step, the leisure seeped out of me.

Part II:

It’s amazing how the death of someone you never met can impact your life.

My best friend and I had known each other a couple of years when her sister Clare died. They say Clare was smiling to her headphoned music at the end, struck by a car while jogging.

It wasn’t until after Clare’s death though that Hip and I became close. Now she’s my every day, every thing pal. And I can’t say how lucky that makes me.

But see my Hip (as my niece refers to her best friend- as in attached at the hip) has this huge family. Alice, Guy, Ann, Mary, Clare, Elizabeth, Suzanne, Carrie and these fabulous, wonderful parents that I (probably annoyingly) refer to as Mom and Dad. They called me a surrogate sister once, and I doubtless took it more seriously than they did. I really feel like one. And they have no idea how much it means to me. They are the most wonderful people. Almost too welcoming. Except I believe them because they are that kind of people. Wonderful.

But I came to love the Furays just as they had emptied, due to this terrible loss. Of Clare. And since then, over the last five years, I’ve learned these people, one-by-one, as they’ve gone from zero back up to almost but never quite full. Recovering, rebuilding. Daresay, normalizing?

Part III:

This walk was getting longer than I wanted. It was getting dark. The worst time of day for walking- dusk.

I suddenly felt like an idiot. I was walking along a busy street in rush hour at dusk with my headphones on.

Clare.

Shoulder checking at each and every driveway, I was craning my neck and waiting longer than necessary at every side street. Cursing because my leisurely walk was now dangerous. My surrogate family.

A mile from home, a motion light turned on when I walked by a driveway. I picked up my pace, straining my legs for the sake of my stupid, leisurely life.

I practically sprinted with relief when I saw my apartment building. I’d been out for two hours. It was dark.

It’s amazing how the death of person you have never met can impact your life. It’s not just being smart about walking or jogging on busy streets. It’s that these people that I love are saturated with the joy and the sadness that is now Clare. It’s like she’s there. All the time.

And I suppose she is, even for me. I felt her presence in my frenzy to get home. And when I did finally pull the shoes off of my tired feet, all I wanted to do was write. Strange. And not strange. Thanks Clare. After all, you and I are tied now by the love of your family. I am blessed to be your surrogate sister too.

Posted by kristen at February 27, 2004 03:31 PM | TrackBack