Closing my eyes, I lay my head back down on the grass, visions of the three women I’d just seen moving through my head. Cloaked from head to toe in flowing dark cloth, their faces are left unveiled to reveal long straight noses, high cheekbones, caramel skin. They walk in unison, a stealth search team canvassing the grass, one at the bottom of the hill near the walking path, one who would alter her path to avoid my lazy body, the last behind me hunting high on the hill.

Eyes still closed, I sense the woman nearest me pass by, noiseless except for a soft cooshing of feet padding on grass. And then a pause in her grassy footsteps. I hear the squeaky sound of green followed by a sharp rooty snap and in my mind I envision her stooped, pulling her quarry from the earth in a quick jerk, then straightening up to store it safely in the cloth bag strapped around her chest. Grassy footsteps fade as she and her sisters continue hunting for urban greens.

“Hope they give those a good washing before eating,” I think. Silent walking sentinels gone, I open my eyes. I love this place, this watery tree-studded refuge anchored in the heart of my city.

A goose with suspicious eyes waddles past, followed by his nervous mate. It’s springtime, the time when geese hiss and snap and even chase no matter the enemy’s size. I freeze up motionless like a stone and keep my eyes on the male, fighting a slight panic inside, memories of horse-country days when I was the victim of two vicious, unwarranted bird attacks (one by a psychotic peacock, the other a bloodthirsty rooster, both flapped and flew at me, aiming their angry beaks at my face). Despite hostile goose glares a peacefulness warms me, a feeling of security, and I smile to myself. I remember when I’d first moved to this city, the feelings of uncertainty, remembering someone telling me “Never walk the lake alone, even during the day!” Thank god I did not listen to that person, thank god I take my own sweet time to figure out what the truth is, for me.

Now I devour this city, my eyes soaking up everything, everyone. It’s time to walk so I get up and get going, remembering to play the game I created to feed the people-watcher in me. Every time I’m here, I note the diversity I see in the first ten minutes. I set out along the lake-hugging path and in my first twenty steps I pass a Chinese octogenarian loaded down with a sack of leeks and narrowly dodge an African American Mister Mom chasing his squealing toddler. Strolling hand-in-hand towards me is a pair of interracial lesbian lovers with matching fluorescent hair-dos, to my left I catch sight of a white woman sitting cross-legged on a park bench devouring a 50-pack of bologna, slice by slice. Here comes a laughing Latina family biking along together, there goes a greased-up body builder from Gold’s, and did those jaded teens just look me straight in the eye?

I’m embarrassed now, that it took me too long to fall in love with this place. I remember when I first began taking it all in as I walked around the lake, it started with the intriguing regulars. But none so intriguing as The Man. Odd, now that I think about it, how I’d given every lakeside local a fitting or funny nickname – a habit of mine – all but The Man.

There was Futbol, a short, stocky, solid-muscle soccer player, a serious and determined athlete who always lapped me at least twice on his runs. And Straw Hat Man, who surely stole his turn-of-the-century brimmed hat from a production of “The Music Man,” and who always broke into a huge grin and a Broadway tune each time I passed by. I wasn’t sure if Heidi of the ‘Hood was a man or a woman, but I was certain that Heidi was a prostitute who was always parked on the same bench, always pleasantly asked for money as I passed, and always wore a black wig with bangs and thick braids. Euro-Perv was the only lake local who freaked me out – once I figured out what he was up to. A short, wiry man in his 60s, he always wore knee-high black socks with sandals, and a slinky tank top with shorts, no matter the temperature. Euro-Perv always sat on the same bench, always clutching the same ratty gift-bag in his lap. I thought him eccentric until the day I passed his bench, then decided to turn around. There he was, licking his lips and snapping a picture of my butt with the camera he’d been hiding in his greasy old gift bag.

One by one, my regulars disappeared from the lake. I wondered what they were up to, what had happened to them. But the one I missed the most, wondered about the most, was The Man.

He was homeless, a rugged, towering figure at least six and a half feet tall, covered in dirt. His long brown trench coat whipped back and forth as he walked, his wild sandy-brown hair stood on end and his long, bearded face resembled Nick Nolte’s mug-shot with a little Jesus mixed in.

I knew where to look for The Man, he always stood in the same spot, the curvy lake allowed me to see him well before we passed each other. During this time I walked the lake three times a week, so The Man learned to look for me too. And when he saw me, he’d always start walking towards me, fast. At first I was alarmed and wondered if my over-active imagination was at play. But as time went on I realized that, for whatever reason, I was his get-a-move-on catalyst. At first I was uncomfortable when we’d pass each other, putting as much space in between us as possible. But as weeks and months passed The Man Who Needed to Walk So Quickly Past Me never looked me in the eye, never said a word, never made a sudden move. Until one day when it all changed.

As usual, I’d seen him standing far ahead and he’d seen me and started off, walking towards me at a brisk clip. I felt some type of thrill each time I passed him now, a feeling I can’t explain except maybe I was hoping that someday, something would happen. I continued towards him, unaware that the thrill I’d hoped for for so many months was just seconds away. He was coming, his trench coat whipping about, his hair as electrified as Einstein’s. It was our normal, strange dance until the very moment he was alongside me. As if in slow motion, he turned his face towards me and spoke a single, remarkable sentence. In a sweet voice, a voice that sounded like an eight-year old choir boy’s, he said “And she walks with angels,” his strange words like five melodic bees, spilling from that mouth of his so high above my head, flying down to settle on mine, sending goosebumpy vibes zipping through my entire body. Stunned and wondering if it really happened, I kept on walking. I never saw The Man again.

My three mile walk almost done, I thought about how much I’d feared The Man in the beginning. Things one needs are not always obvious, and rarely, if they are meaningful, do they come wrapped in gorgeous, sparkling packages. Not too long ago I’d seriously considered leaving this city – confused by personal and professional heartaches, I’d thought and heard from friends “maybe a fresh start … maybe somewhere closer to family.” Unsure, I went on auto-pilot and completely cleansed my mind of the worries that were causing my hair to fall out, not thinking of moving, not thinking of staying, often not thinking about my future at all. Months past until Clarity finally made herself present. She was a welcome sight and I knew she was right.

I know now that this melting-pot city will love me, feed and nurture me, teach and challenge me, thrill and intrigue me, forever if I wanted it to. My walk complete, I head up to the sidewalk towards my car, passing a Big Wheel-riding toddler and his careful grandma.

There’s traffic so I wait before pulling out. I roll down my windows to let the bay breeze in and glance out the passenger-side window to admire springtime. Instead I see a chubby ebony arm, its tiny finger pointing at me. My Honda is low, his Big Wheel high, my window is all the way down and he’s sidled his tiny vehicle so close he’s almost in my car, eyes laughing, a huge smile bursting out the sides of his pacifier.

“Dooo!” he says.
“I like your bike,” I respond.

He’s cuter than cute, I’m beguiled and he’s definitely decided he’s done with peddling and is ready for the car ride home, with me. Grandma is now also poking her head in my car, we all smile and laugh, and then drive, walk and peddle away.