Appearing the Fool

Loretta walked every night, rain or shine; no matter how cold or wet it was outside. There was never a set destination in mind, instead she allowed herself to be navigated by split decision and chance. The only two constants in her nighttime perambulations were the pace and the time. Loretta walked fast and she wanted to walk fast for as long as she could—quitting only when her cheeks would start to sting and burn from the wind, or when her fingers would become numb from exposure. She had cut the fingers off of her gloves in order to make lighting her smokes easier but in exchange she paid for it with frozen digits. She deemed this a fair exchange. She walked directly in a straight line, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her grey flannel coat. If there was anyone to pass she would pass them swiftly and without comment; she had long ago ditched any attempt at eye contact or greetings after the courtesy had not been reciprocated. Fuckers. Mostly the only other people out at that hour were solitary dog walkers and smokers. The dog walkers were fat-looking frazzled people, mostly men, who wanted their tiny shivering dogs to get on with their business so they could get back inside where it was safe and warm. Its amusing, she thought, to see these big men with their petite dogs—both mincing from one leg to the other in the snow. The smokers were individuals who sought solitude and comfort from a dirty habit, alone in the dark, usually lurking under a tree limb laden with snow, away from the porch lights. She passed them in stealth, respecting their wishes. The endgame was to walk and smoke until she felt sane again, until the fists tightly clenched and bunched up inside of her would relax and loosen up, allowing her to think lucidly about herself and not feel so trapped and anxious.

The walking came about through sheer desperation. Not long after they had moved in Loretta was rendered mute and frustrated, feeling kinetic pricks from the pins and needles setting into her limbs from inactivity. That February had been endless—despite the brevity of calendar days—and every other day she would wake up to see another few feet of snow blanketing the ground, requiring still more shoveling and muffling out any and all sound. She found herself starving for a car alarm, some form of auditory anarchy, a drunken street brawl—anything! Loretta couldn’t bring herself to read yet another line, pretend to watch the television or fake an interest in conversation without screaming and falling to the floor in a fit of rage. Stifled, she felt as though she was trapped inside of a snow globe, soundlessly floating around—and just when she would settle to the bottom someone would come and shake it all up again. She just needed some time alone, that’s all, just a little time outside of the globe, away from all of the other flakes. She had bundled herself up and despite protests from Stefan about the cold and ‘appearing the fool’ she had gone out and sat on the steps, peering spitefully up and down the vacant street. Withered barren lawns surrounding mundane houses with blank expressions stared back at her, silently condemning her as an outcast. Yes, she agreed, yes I am. I do not belong here with you and your cloistered occupants with your pathological desire for the politics of football and your entitled children, getting shuttled to the mall in the backs of minivans while watching television like all-consuming drones. Get me OUT of here. The resentment sidled up to her ever-increasing sense of self-loathing and became a match made in heaven. After all, it was she who had wanted to move. She had grown up in the city and had never bothered to learn how to drive so she couldn’t even rate with the mindless drones in the back of the minivan that she wasn’t skilled enough to drive! She had wanted the Hallmark card life, right? That is when Loretta suddenly stood up, walked down the three brick steps, down her walkway and out on to the sidewalk. She stopped to turn and look at her little house. It was a nice little house. Fuck you nice little house. She turned her back on it and walked down the street and didn’t come back until she felt good about things again.

When she did return to her nice little house—cold, worn out and smelling like an ashtray—Loretta was greeted at the door by Stefan, who was genuinely relieved that she had decided to return and gave her a big hug before helping her off with her damp coat. He planted a warm kiss on her ruddy cheek and bit his tongue about her odor. Touched by the gesture she felt herself defrost a little and together they walked into the kitchen to prepare dinner and open up a bottle of wine. Walking is good, she thought.

That night, instead of making love, Stefan decided to fuck Loretta. As she finished reading the Science section he leaned across the couch and slid two fingers underneath her panties and Loretta lost her place. He nudged her panties to the side with the tip of his middle finger, searching her face for resistance and finding none. Stefan then revealed hidden math skills when he subtracted one from sixty-nine and as Loretta came for a third time she had a vision of a lotus flower unfurling at a fork in the road and concluded that she would continue to walk from this day forward. This is how Loretta survived her first winter in the suburbs: ennui, madness, walking, and fucking. She liked to joke every so often that it was the worst of times; it was the best of times.

Ten years later and Loretta’s legs look great. She has walked perhaps every street in the village where she and Stefan lived together. Her definition of happiness and Hallmark has changed. She is the proud owner of a driver’s license and is only slightly embarrassed to drive around in her Toyota Highlander. She is not so much embarrassed by the SUV itself, instead she feels guilty that she is a solitary woman encased in a giant vehicle without the prerequisite mindless drones arguing about which channel to watch in the backseat. Loretta no longer smokes and has befriended many of the fat and frazzled dog walkers and smokers living around her. Stefan left about three years ago, right after he met Laura, a rather thick-legged bar wench who was vociferously enthusiastic about his math skills and in return taught him many of her own, often while Loretta was out walking. Stefan and Loretta are still good friends and from time to time they meet for dinner—along with Laura—and afterwards they have a few drinks. They are forever trying to coax her home with them, to their home. Later Loretta drives home in her large car, feeling slightly buzzed and soiled for having been such a forgiving sport that she floors it through the STOP THREE WAY sign at the crest of the hill and laughs bitterly to herself, alone in her car.

Loretta still walks every night, rain or shine. She walks fast and in a direct line, always forward. She still does not belong and she is very happy about that. She no longer carries fists around inside of her. The cold air is clean, bracing—she holds it deeply within her lungs, her hands are warm inside of her pockets.

Source: http://rosebudburns.blogspot.com/2010/08/appearing-fool.html