Given that I’ve lived in this house for five years, I’ve had the chance to run through this neighborhood many, many times. I’ve seen wooded lots get cleared and houses go up. I’ve had a chance to see the landscaping changes around houses. I’ve seen the same houses sell over and over again. I’ve seen spilled garbage and wrecked bikes and suspicious clothing lying in the street. And I’ve seen the people. I’ve come to know them by sight, hardly any of them by name.
One thing I’ve noticed about runners over the years, they observe their surroundings, curious people they usually are, some because of boredom, perhaps, but most are just simply curious about people. The thing that most runners don’t put into perspective though is that not only do they see others, but others see them – they are observed as much as they observe. For example, as the seasons change, so does the attire of the runner. Runners change with the weather and people notice.
For me, winter means Gortex jackets or polarfleece vests with wind pants or tights, always combined with a cap or hat of some kind. Winter mornings also mean reflective vests and small flashlights in the dark chill. But summer changes it all. Summer means the three “S” ensemble – that is: shoes, shorts, and sunglasses. Nothing else. So, summer means running nearly naked. Summer feels good. Definitely.
Since runners notice people and people notice runners, there does sometimes come a connection of sorts. Usually it’s a smile and a wave in the car as the runner meets it. Or a smile and a wave and a “good morning” as the runner passes them as they stand in their yard. But sometimes there is something psycho-kinetic. Sometimes something that feels almost special. I have had that happen from time to time – that feeling of a special connection.
There is a woman with a red sports car that lives next to a white frame house with the newest, most elaborate landscaping job in the neighborhood so far. She’s an intriguing woman. She leaves for work during the week around 7:35 each morning. I meet her almost in the same spot each day. Her smile as she waves is a curious smile. It might be a half smile, half smirk, but her eyes, even through the windshield of the car, are intensely focused on mine, seeming to look into my sunglasses for whatever she might be able to see. And her right hand, the hand always on the steering wheel, gives something of a sideways wave. Then she’s gone, past me, always leaving me to wonder about her.
She lives with a man, probably her husband. No kids that I’ve ever seen (no lawn toys around her house). One dog, a Border Collie, I think. I’ve seen her outside a few times as I ran by on weekends. Even then, she gives me the same smile, the same wave. Of course, I’ve wondered about her -- what she does for a living, which window she sleeps behind, what she wears under her dresses, her favorite food, her preference on wines, how she likes to make love, many things. Runners think of all sorts of things as they run along alone for long runs. An hour or two leaves a lot of time to think.
There was a particular weekday that I finally met the woman in the red car. I had run that morning and showered late before deciding to drive into town for a sandwich for lunch. When I drove into the Subway parking lot, I saw her car. It was her. And as fate would have it, she was in line waiting to order, so I stepped up behind her and asked myself just what might come of this chance meeting. I wondered if she’d ever seen me completely dressed. I had never seen her dressed for work like she was, I realized. She wore a nice full loose-fitting summer dress. While I wondered all this and more, I saw her eyes catch sight of us in the mirror behind the counter. She smiled that smile and turned around.
“Hi,” she said in a voice I’d never heard from so close, “You may not know me…”
“But I do,” I interrupted, “Or at least I know you and where you live. I see you occasionally.”
“When you’re running?”
“Yes.” It was my turn to smile.
We chatted and moved through the line. Finally, we both ordered tuna salad on wheat. (The karma was heavy.) When we each had our sandwiches, it was her that suggested we eat them together outside. I agreed without hesitation.
Outside we talked some more, but the eye contact told more than the discussion of houses, and jobs, and music, and restaurants. The eye contact said things that words weren’t ready for, things I felt were hers to ponder and decide about, things that were for her to follow-through on, but only if she wanted to.
We both finished eating and sat sipping water, each of us knowing that the contact was going to end, neither of us wanting to be the one to end it.
After a pause in the conversation, she said, “I need to use the restroom. Will you wait for me? Maybe walk me to my car?”
“Sure,” I agreed.
She wasn’t gone long. When she came back she stood beside me and held out her hand to give me something. Clinched in her hand was a pair of panties. She handed them to me and smiled before she said, “Would you carry these to my car for me? I’d like to show you something.”
I didn’t answer out loud. I just got up and followed her into the parking lot and toward her car.
She walked to the car deliberately. I walked a step behind her watching her and wondering. She used the automated device to disarm the alarm and unlock the doors. In one motion she opened the passenger side door and turned to me and smiled the smile I saw in the morning through the windshield.
“Please sit with me,” was all she said.
