Morning Walkers

Morning Walkers

He walks in one direction around the figure-eight walking path next to the river. I walk in the other direction. The first time we meet up he says “mornin’”. At the second encounter he says “you all right t’day?” The third time it’s “nother purty day, ain’t it”. And then he’s run dry of social conversation.

The next 5 or 6 times our paths cross he looks studiously ahead, as if rehearsing a speech in his head, or solving a quadratic equation. Occasionally he’ll sneak a little peek my way and I’ll smile and he’ll look embarrassed like he’s been caught in the act of something he shouldn’t. His right hand involuntarily brushes the pocket of his pants. I wonder it he’s aware that he does this.

We don’t know each other’s names. I call him Shy North Carolina Native. I wonder what he calls me.