the walks we used to take

I miss the walks we used to take. That last one we set out on after our mutually favorite salad for dinner. You had your usual Say Cheese and I my Longhorn, eating them on my little coffee table covered by my children's dropcloth of art. Talking between bites of pretzel bagels, we covered pedestrian topics of interest with an undertone of uneasiness, staying away from issues at hand. There was something simmering between us, needing to be brought to the surf

ace.

In the gloam we headed out on foot, had to walk off our full bellies of organic awesomeness. Closing my door, the multilayered aroma of apartment living hit us with blunt force trauma. The Febreze wall plugin, the Indian garlic, the burnt vacuum, the cigarette smoke, all came rushing into our nostrils as we hastened our exit to the fresh outside.

The setting sun lit up the backdrop of trees and buildings with an orange cast of hue like the mixes of cheeses on your salad. The way the glowing amber reflection on the eastern facing structure surfaces stood out crisply against the roiling dark clouds. Sensing it could storm tonight, we headed into the sun, down the parking lot, and towards that ever overflowing dumpster that no one knows how to actually drop their garbage in. Someone new in the building must have infants. Winds whipped stray tissues around like little tornadoes at out feet.

Crossing the grass to the playground, the soggy grass made us zig and zag in order to avoid the deeper puddles. Your little French baguette white shoes got soaked. But we walked on. The mulch under the monkey bars showed evidence of kids recently at play.  It sparked a quick reminiscence of our own playing there at night. That time, after getting daring with liquid courage and finding concealment in the wall climb, I moved behind you in the darkness and kissed madly against your neck, biting little nips. We gave in to our primal urges, hiked up your skirt, and merged in the shadows. Smiling at that satisfying memory, we walked through the playground and onward, both knowing on the inside that it won't happen again.

Up the path and through the fresh cut grass, we got to the hospital parking lot. Staying along the strip of grass as the back of the lot, we slowed our pace, enjoying a comfortable silence. Looking into each other's eyes with both happy joy and sad grief, we entwined our fingers. The scent of the warm and wet pavement from that loving embrace will stay with me almost as long as the calmness of holding hands with you. It was a pause in time when no worries could surface.  Turning and locking your arm in my elbow, we walked on.

Parked cars from hospital workers and patients were few and far between behind the buildings as we heard the birds singing their dusk lullabies with soft precision. Passing the park benches the workers used for lunch spots, we rounded the corner and walked along the building. Not just a normal hospital now but instead a specific branch dedicated to mental issues, Laurelwood. Commenting on the finger-paintings of the insane posted in the windows we continued up to the street wondering what it must be like to be trapped somewhere you don't feel is right.  Now aromas of beer and steak began filling the air along with noise from the passing cars and loud motorcycles.  Unused gasoline odors and exhaust layered the avenue in gusts until the winds pushed them up and away from us like ghosts in the night.

Cutting back between the stores, we walked up the alley heading back to the playground. More dumpsters behind the stores littered the small asphalt path. Still holding hands, we dodged bags on the ground and diverted around old milk crates. We didn't want to let our hands fall separately and alone. We wanted that warm embrace, that simple pleasure. Some workers could be seen standing behind the backdoors, smoking on break. We would utter polite greetings and keep walking.

Rounding back up through the playground, retracing our steps, we walked solemnly along the parked cars in my lot. Finishing our smokes, we put them in the tray by my door with a sigh. We sighed because our little walk was over, our brief interlude of serenity was over.

This was our usual lap, our usual after dinner walk. Always full of a shoulder-slumping relief, peaceful company, and quiet tranquility, this routine we loved. It was full of small observations of the area-people working, driving, walking like us. But mainly it was for a glimpse of self-reflection, of love-reflection between us. It felt so wonderful to be watching you. It felt so good to simply be out on foot, watching the world through our little lens.  A lens we shared on many occasions. But a lens that developed a crack in it. One that doesn't permit us to see things the same way anymore. One that stole our compromising and understanding, our love.

I will always cherish those walks with you. I will go on them myself and continue to strive for that feeling of warmth and love we shared. It will always remain locked in my heart, a sacred island of relief and refuge of happiness against the rough seas of life, a safe haven to plainly be myself, a sanctuary for the soul.  I'll miss the walks we used to take. I'll miss you.