And It Follows You

Went for a walk this afternoon.  The usual place — the park behind my house.  It was a former road converted to a walking area which is right next to a stream.  It’s also in a valley with woods surrounding the walkway.  It was a nice afternoon for a walk.  It was a bit cool and overcast, but still beats the rain we’ve had the last few days.

Usually, I don’t wear my earbuds while walking.  Music is a distraction, but this time I wore them.  I wasn’t out for a walk for exercise. I was just trying to make my steps.  Chasing the streak!  Since the walk wasn’t for exercise, I was dressed casually in khakis and sweater.  A hat on and a neck gaiter just in case I run into a lot of people using the walkway.

I didn’t.  It was quiet for a weekend, especially on Halloween.  

As I walked, under the eaves of the trees, I kicked up the fallen leaves.  I was crunching through them just oblivious to the world listening to my music.  After a few minutes, I was alone.  

Enjoying the woods, I didn’t hear the other noises with the earbuds in.  I didn’t hear the other footsteps trudging through the fallen leaves.  When I did, I didn’t see anyone else around.  

I peered across the stream, and see no one there.  Is it just me?  Am I alone in these woods?  I didn’t want to find out.  I quickened my pace on the turnaround and practically was jogging back the way I came from.  The leaves moving was just me and my follower.  

I rounded a corner and there was a family coming my way.  My follower immediately disappeared.  I didn’t let up my pace.  I passed the people with a rigid smile.  I did not hear my follower on the way home.  Welp, that’s just how it goes on the spookiest day of the year.

“Dave, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but most of the stuff I do is weirder than hell.”

“Hey, stranger!” Follow that up with the equally lame, “Long time no see.”

“Back for a few days?”

Only just visiting. They asked me to spend a few days in town, but I’ll be going back home soon.

“Strange. You don’t call here home anymore. How is it there?”

Lovely. Love the place. It’s home now.

“Home is where the heart is…”

Don’t we remember that it was only a few months ago that I moved? It was to follow my heart. To give it to the one who told me of love. Showed me love. Tells me of love. It’s what I wanted. It’s what I get.

Two days until home.

“…”

“Well, at least it was good to see you. Stop by again sometime soon. Don’t be a stranger.”

Though Thou Thoughts

Did she wear green on St. Patrick’s Day? I know she wore a shamrock sticker. I wasn’t looking anywhere else. “Hey, Irish!”

Black puffy down jacket and tweed pants. I don’t know the color of the top. Purple?

Cute ensemble: jeans, grey sweater, white blouse, an outfit that screams moé. Then the black puffy down jacket. What was missing was the cute striped knit cap she wears backwards.

Monday morning was dress up day. All business. Black suit jacket, skirt, and white leggings or stockings and high heel knee high boots. Yes. I was looking at her legs.

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Super Super

[insert name here] has signed into IM

4:28 PM
Hey!

Hello.

Have you ever been to [insert place here]?

{…}

just wondering if you’ve tried it
i know you like going out and wondered if you’ve ever been?

{…}

[insert name here] has left IM

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4:34
Sorry
I was on the phone
never been to [insert place here]

OK

Tell me how it is

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Scenes From The Maul

“She’s back.”

“Hey, dude. You’re girl’s back!”

“I heard you the first time. Stop the yelling.”

So I turn around, slowly, as cool as can be. Be the other side of the pillow. Be the other side of the pillow. She is there.

“I am not a mindless drone. Mindless drones should not be allowed to use technology.”


“Hey, you. Over here.”

She calls me over there to look over something, but I’m not looking. I’m smelling. She smells brilliant that’s what makes her noticeable. Seconds after she enters the room, her fragrance hits the nose, and I can’t help but be reminded that there is a god.

“Thanks for the help.”

Now I’m back at my desk. Heaven is over there. Hell is here, myself, in my skin and nothing can bridge the chasm between the perdition and paradise.

“Off to lunch!”

Just this once, let me go with. It’s better to not eat alone. I know it is. I read it in a book that told me so even while I was alone.

“Goodnight. See ya tomorrow.”

Yes, we will. I’ll restart this thread once more in the morning.

“Thomas Edison wasn’t trying to invent something that was readily available in a wide variety of stores near his home.”

Copenhagen Fashionista on Wheels
Picture courtesy Mikael Colville-Andersen of Copenhagen Cycle Chic Blog

She takes her bike and paints it green. She hangs a white basket off the front and places a bell on the handlebar. She doesn’t wear spandex, but a flirty skirt. A smart, navy jacket rounds out the ensemble. Putting her bag in the basket, she pushes off towards her destination. The crisp morning air as she moves through it brings a slight blush on her cheeks. Her sunglasses catch the sun and she flashes that smile of hers as she enjoys the morning ride. Picture perfect.

Here’s to girls that ride bikes. The greatest invention. The bike. Plus, females. The two combine for beautiful motion. They are things to be happy about.

“Welcome to Squaresville. Population: one.”

It has to keep going…

… because it is should be interesting.

And I can’t think of anything so far…

I started this post 20 minutes ago trying to figure out something to write about.

Write what you had on your mind.

What would that be? Girls? A girl?

But that’s always on your mind.

Not all the time.

I also think about other stuff. Mainly other stuff, because thinking about girls gets you depressed.

Depressed?

Not really. But that is the way I played my cards.

You could never play right. Your ‘tell’ is just too obvious.

Right. You noticed. Now if only they could, too.

Yup.

Up the Longnecker Road

One thing about cycling alone that makes it difficult is that on those lonely back country roads, it gets spooky. You look over your shoulder and can imagine something or someone following you, and your cadence picks up moving you quickly away from whatever it was that had you spooked.

Now, at times I get spooked, but it is always just a figment of my imagination. I’m not one to worry to much about the spooks. They come and go, and I continue on pedaling to my goal. Yet, I can’t help but think about a situation I ran into this past summer. On this spooky of evenings, let me tell you my tale. It may give you chills.

Butler Road is a favorite of the biking community. It can connect you to many other routes throughout Baltimore County, and it’s relatively near civilization. It’s in the beautiful valleys northwest of the city.

I make my way there all the time this summer. It’s become part of my favorite biking routes. I’ve always wanted to climb the hill off of Longnecker Road in that vale. At the top is a radio tower, you can see it whenever you ride there, and it usually beckons. I’ve never been up that way, but finally, on one of my last rides, I decide to check it out.

It was on over cast summer day cool which is great for a bike ride. I go out and pass through Reisterstown Road, out to Timber Grove, which spits me out onto Dover. I bomb down the hill at 40 mph, then hang the left out onto Dover Road proper. I take the left onto Longnecker. A cloud occults the sun and it looks a little bit like rain. The wind kicks up. A head wind sucks. I put my head down and grind into the wind hoping that when I get to the base of the hill that it will shelter.

I reach the base of the hill. It’s over a creek, around a bend, and through a stone quiet vale. The road hangs a right, then sharp left into the woods before the climb starts. I’m grinding up in a low gear. Half way up I pass an old lady walking her dog. Weird. Then I make it out of the woods, but the hill kicks up. It’s next to a nice field, but the road gets steeper. I’m out of gears, so I focus on trying to get up the hill.

At the top you can see a farm. There’s a false flat so that you don’t see the crossroads. You climb up the steepest section, make it to the false flat which rises to the crossroads.

Up ahead I see another cyclist resting. He’s tuckered from the climb too.

I pull up next to him. Huffing and puffing. Sit down and swig some water from my water bottle.

“Tough.”

“I usually like this hill, it’s less steep than the backside. But I wish the club ride wouldn’t have left me behind.”

“Club ride? Where to?”

“Carroll County and back. 40 miles. I’m late and must catch up.”

Even though, I’m overheated, I feel a chill.

“I’m always trying to catch up to the group.”

“I know how you feel. I’m a slowpoke myself.” This is when I take a good look at my rest stop companion. He’s an older gentleman riding an older bike: friction shifters and really only 10 speeds. Odd. The chills.

I look back down the hill, and see another cyclist coming up. His appearance startles me. I turn to the gentleman, but he’s just muttering, “I must catch up.”

The other cyclist reaches us. My rest stop companion, asks for directions out to Butler. The cyclist doesn’t know, but continues on with his ride. He gives us a queer look as he pedals away. “Follow me, this is the usual club ride.” My companion barely acknowledges.

“Well, I’m going right. Left should get you back to the group ride.”

“Maybe I’ll follow you.”

And with that the chills come again. To be followed by this gentleman just somehow gives me the spooks something awful. I get on and pedal away, quickly.

Over the backside, the road is in terrible conditions. There’s potholes and patches, its steep, and bumpy. I’m trying to go as fast as possible without crashing. I glance back on occasion to see if he’s following. Nope. Thank, god.

I don’t know, but that encounter always creeps me out. I don’t know what happened to that guy, but it was always strange how he didn’t know where to go and to be always trying to keep up. Who was that man? And why did he give me the chills?

Untitled circa 1992

The Head Office in Gerontin, Texas, called and found that Mr. Brooks was not home. The answering machine picked up the call. As soon as he got home, Mr Brooks screened his messages. Sandwiched between two calls from Sheena and a call from a distant third cousin was the call from the Head Office. Mr. Brooks was disturbed.

“Hello, Charley? Where the fuck are you? We need your expertise in handling a serious situation developing in our foreign markets. Shit! It’s like they were going to try and change the system. Crazy foreign bastards. And stupid. Anyway the Boss is steamed. He wants you to do something about it. All is clear. Expenses are taken care of. Just call us. This assignment is urgent, maximum
priority.”

Mr. Brooks immediately returned the call. He said he would see what he could do. Then, with the enthusiasm of men going off to war, Mr. Brooks packed his bags and left town.

Whenever Mr. Brooks left his residence, Mrs. Shriff would look after his place. She would find often in the trash many newspaper clippings of certain foreign ambassadors’ or of third world dictators’ assassinations. However peculiar this must have seen to her at the time, she never thought much of her tenant as being interested in foreign affairs. She went about her business without special attention to the personal affairs of Mr. Brooks. Not until the day Mr. Brooks left on another business trip overseas did she find the hidden meaning behind the newspaper clippings.

The day after Mr. Brooks received the call from the Head Office, Mrs. Shriff stopped in to check on his apartment. She found to her surprise that in such a hurry to leave Mr. Brooks left the place in disarray. While cleaning up his mess she found strapped beneath a drawer three ammo clips. Then she knew. Beneath his mild mannered exterior, Mr. Brooks was someone far more dangerous than what she knew him to be. Mrs. Shriff kept this to herself.

It scared her at first, but she had past suspicion on his covert assignments to foreign countries. “Why doesn’t he come home with interesting tales to tell?” she had thought to herself. Now she knows. Tales of murder and intrigue were not ones to be told to housewives. She just kept a watch on her resident watching for any strangeness in him. She watched, and she waited for him to come home.