I first saw the walker on one of my daily neighborhood dog walks ten or so years ago. She is tall – at least 5’ 8” -- thin and fit, with natural blonde hair that falls just below chin length, aged somewhere in her 30s. Wearing a Gore-Tex parka, loose sweatpants and running sneakers, ear buds firmly attached, her head slightly down, she maintained a pace that quickly outdistanced me and the meandering Max, who has a different agenda than cardiovascular health. She did not acknowledge me as most passersby do to each other in my neighborhood. “Must be training for something,” I thought.
Then I started noticing her at different times on the same days, power walking the neighborhood in the early morning, late afternoon, early evening, head bopping and feet pacing, oblivious to the world around her.
As my waist has widened and hair lightened from brown to silver these past 10 years, she remains reed-thin and mostly blonde, her fast pace unchanged. We have yet to make a personal connection. A few years ago when we were within six feet facing each other, I greeted her with a smile and a “hello.” She did not acknowledge me; she accelerated to escape a conversation. Now when we are walking in the street, it seems that that she discreetly moves away as she nears me.
The writer in me has created stories to explain her life: She walks the same path in the neighborhood from dawn to dusk as a self-imposed life sentence for a wrong she committed. She is autistic, anorexic, or maybe suffers from obsessive-compulsive disorder. She is escaping an abusive spouse or home life. She's an alien who has been marooned here and is walking the streets looking for signs of her people. I consider faking a heart attack or a fall one day when we are near each other to see if there really is a human inside. (Not really, but it would make a great story.)
Max is 12 now, and my husband swears we are not replacing him when he leaves us. (We’ll see about that.) Years from now, I imagine her walking through the neighborhood wondering whatever happened to that nosy dog walker.
What kind of constant strangers do you observe in your life?
I always find it curious when people can't be bothered to return a smile or a "hello." I also wonder what their story is. Sometimes folks are in their own world, but often it seems very intentional that they want to avoid any human interaction. I'm an introvert, so it can't just be that. Interesting to ponder...
ReplyDeleteKristin: I think that Julie's comment that she prefers the mystery probably rings true for me too. I've overcome my disappointment that she doesn't care about me as a person. The mystery of her walking now provides the most entertainment.
DeleteThanks, Chris. This made me smile. There are a two people I pass a few times a week as I walk my dog, and I too, writer that I am, wonder about their lives, where they come from, where they work in my residential neighborhood. There were a few years when I hardly ever saw my one "friend" and I wondered if he noticed. We say hello, but that's it. Perhaps I should strike up a conversation? I think I prefer the mystery.
ReplyDeleteJulie: Your comment about the mystery struck a note with me. Last night, about 8 p.m. when it was dark and sprinkling rain, I drove through my neighborhood and saw a dark figure pacing in the street, with reflective stripes on her parka. It was my constant stranger, on her journey. I think I prefer to keep the mystery after all.
DeleteI love the notion of a constant stranger...it is a very good writing prompt and I will store it away in my mind for another day. I could only think that it would really bother me that a person that saw me everyday did not at least acknowledge my existence.
ReplyDeleteb
http://www.retirienstyleblog.com
B: I tried to recall where I first heard the term "constant stranger". I thought it was a song from the 60s, "Love is a Constant Stranger." It came to me at the end of writing the blog entry, as I thought about the headline.
DeleteAt first it bothered me that she did not recognize me after all of these years, but that kind of expectation could be cultural. Thanks for writing. I'll check out your blog as it resonates with my personal goal.
must be a writer trait because I make up stories about "strangers" too. With constant strangers, curiosity usually trumps my need for mystery and I often introduce myself. Here's some character insight about my desire to turn strangers into at least acquintances if not friends-as a child watching the Miss American pageant, I dreamed of being Miss Congeniality more than Miss America!! Chris, I know the feminist in you can find another blog in that !
DeleteMiss Congeniality: That made me smile, not that I am surprised by that story about you. We could have foretold your career by that admission.
DeleteRemember that my Birkman profile called me "selectively sociable." I'd never be so bold as to impose an introduction on her. I'll just continue to wonder about her wandering.
Chris
I think you should fake the heart attack and see what she does. Don't you wish we had the nerve to do something like that?
ReplyDeleteThere are a few people who work in the same building that I do who I see often, but we only smile or nod at one another. Maybe tomorrow I'll change that. Thanks.
I enjoyed reading your post.
Peggy
Peggy: I'm at the age that faking a heart attack might be bad karma. Perhaps a clumsy fall might make me feel a little safer. I think that we pass so many of the same people in our day to day existence, fellow travelers at our neighborhood, work, shopping and others.
DeleteI've noticed that when I travel abroad it's fun to wear my Temple or Penn sweatshirts to see how many times someone approaches you in recognition to talk about being from Philly.
It appears we are more familiar with each other when we are away than when we are right in the same zip code.
Thanks for writing.
Chris
I've mulled over this piece since I first read it. Two things have lingered:
ReplyDelete1. What ever became of the "Snoop Sisters"? That was the name I gave two elderly women I assumed were sisters. They walked about Cape May conspicuously but spoke only to one another in low tones. Then, I only saw one of them. Now...neither...hmmm...
2. I am the stranger in my new neighborhood. A road construction detour has me walking through the subdivision that surrounds my cottage. What has surprised me is how friendly the neighborhood seems to be. Folks wave as they pass me in their cars, say hello if they are out in their yards. Your post is a reminder to me not to be "a stranger."