Chasing Life (2)
Until We Meet Again
I felt a twinge of regret when our short conversation came to an abrupt end. As we turned and headed in opposite directions, we swatted at deer flies that rudely landed on our cheeks, necks and hats.
“You have a beautiful smile,” he called in parting. If only I had a dollar for every time this gift from the universe was mentioned.
“So do you” I tossed over my shoulder. “Right back at you!”
I meant it.
I’d even thought about the twinkle in his eyes, rivaling his grin, during our conversation. That smile immediately put me at ease both times we’ve met.
When I pulled into the parking lot, I knew I’d be crossing paths with my new friend today. We met a week or so back, this enchanting gentleman and I.
I am not observant enough to notice what kind of car he drives, but I could not miss the tennis ball attached to the antenna. Why? I wondered. Perhaps I’ll get the chance to ask.
Mara and I walked about a mile in solitude — me stopping occasionally to jog in place while she caught up. Always when we start out, the old girl lags behind me, stubbornly moving at her own pace. Then, as soon as we circle around for the return trip, she stays right near my heels. If only I could read her thoughts. Oh heck, I suppose I can. She’s stopping to sniff the scent of every other dog that has passed since out last visit. This is her walk, you know.
Anyhow, just at the point where the forest stops and the path slopes gently downhill to a dike flanked on both sides by weedy marsh waters, one smiling face met another. It was as if we were old friends, spontaneously meeting at an unexpected time and place.
“Are you working on your intervals today?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said through a grin and chuckle.
“How were the bugs for you?” he questioned.
“Not bad,” I replied.
“The change to this cool weather has helped,” he said. “On the muggy days there a real bi — , bad,” he said stifling a swear. I found his realness endearing.
“I think Mara and I were here on Monday. I had to run most of the way through the woods with my hood up,” I said.
We both laughed at that.
“You keep yourself mighty thin,” he said while gesturing at me. “Do you follow any special diet?” No wonder I like this man.
“Nah. You keep yourself pretty thin, too,” I said gesturing back. “My family just eats most of our meals at home. Lots of veggies. How about you?”
“Oh, I watch what I eat. The other day I looked at the label on a piece of chocolate cake at Walmart. Eighty percent of the calories came from saturated fat,” he offered incredulously.
I had to ask.
“Did you buy it?”
“No,” he said, flashing his contagious smile.
We talked a bit about this and that. As he was turning to keep on I asked, “Do you live in town?”
“Well, yes, sort of — just the other side of the river,” he said. He went on to tell me he’s seen three badger holes — they’re oval, to accommodate the animals shape. Ground hog dens have a round entrance. “That’s how you know the difference,” my new friend explained.
The swishing and swatting increased the longer we stood still, so we said good-bye and good day to each other, capping off our farewell with the mutual compliment mentioned above.
Again today, our interaction left a mark on me. I could not wait to write it down. My impatience found me jotting it in fits and spurts as time allowed. I recognize that our brief and hurried conversation was a highlight to my week.
As a thinker and writer, I ask myself, “What exactly is it that I am chasing?”
