Every evening, the dog and I have made it our business to stroll through the streets, where I try to smile to at least one person. It is very, very quiet tonight and there are places where there is unbroken snow to crunch through. I love to stare at the buildings, and into the windows of restaurants and shops. I pretend, almost, that I'm in another place, when I go outside.
There is no wind, and the cold is beginning to jar me back to life. I adjust my cap with a snowy glove, and some of the stuff falls down my neck and between my shoulder blades. It feels amazing. My fingers are starting to freeze, but the rest of me is more sharp and awake than I've been in months, maybe even years.
Sometimes we walk by a window and I am surprised by the sea of faces, talking and laughing over dinner, playing chess and drinking coffee with fog on the windows and music pulsating from just out of reach. Other places are quiet, save for a couple in the corner, two girls sharing a slice of pizza, four old friends who have the restaurant to themselves. At Spinnakers, the entire staff is leaning on barstools, gazing somewhere else. It's like an Edward Hopper painting.
Dogs open the door towards tiny human gestures. People slip past their own barriers, sometimes, when they see a goofy dog, or a dog in a faux suede parka with a fur collar, covered in snow. They talk directly to him, which is strange for the person on the other end of the leash. Sometimes I'm jarred by people, after I've been alone for a while.
For a very long time, I have been watching myself from somewhere else, a strange sort of autopilot where I'd near completely disconnected from my life. It's as if whoever was left to run my brain while I was away wasn't allowed to move forward in my stead. So I've done nothing, all these years, and I don't even know where I've been hiding.
There is a light shining at the end of the wharf, spilling a perfect circle onto the ground. I can feel myself trying to come back, and the walks help. The snow helps. How hard would it be, I wonder, to re-inhabit my soul, the one I've treated so badly for so long?
