(3 weeks)
SUNDAY.
While visiting my father in the suburbs, I tag along for his daily walk.
“A little exercise will do you good,” he says while stretching. It’s a procedure that involves bending his knees, cracking his knuckles, and making faces.
The walk, which he’s been doing for years, consists of laps around the perimeter of the park across from his house. As we promenade, we keep passing the same fanny-packwearing senior citizens over and over. Every time we pass them, they nod to my father and he nods back.
“Everyone’s going in the opposite direction,” I point out.
“I like to go clockwise,” he says. “It’s the right way.”
“But we’re going counter-clockwise.”
My father disagrees and we argue the point over the course of two full counter-clockwise laps. Finally, he stops and closes his eyes. He imagines he is above us, floating in the clouds, looking down on the earth and trying to read a park-sized wristwatch.Then he concedes.
“All this time I’ve been going the wrong way,” he says dejectedly. “What these people must think of me!”
“They probably just think you’re a free spirit,” I say. “A rebel forcing society to confront its buttoned-down, clockwise ways. Anyway, if you want, let’s just switch.”
“I can’t switch now,” he says, shaking his head resolutely. “I’m the kind of guy who stays the course.”
And I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t really care one way or the other, so together we walk on, against the clock, nodding to the neighbours, feeling our muscles, as well as our character, grow bigger and stronger with each lap.
WEDNESDAY.
Tucker shows up at my office because he “needed a reason to put on pants.”
“Why’s there a sheet of fabric softener in your garbage?” he asks.
It had been stuck to the back of my sweater all day. When I finally discovered it, I felt like I hadn’t a true friend in the office.
“I brought it from home,” I say, not entirely lying. “It’s like potpourri. A sheet of Bounce and some orange peels in the trash really sweetens up an office.”
“Then why’s the place still smelling like boiled eggs?” he asks.
“I had eggs for lunch.”
Studied or ignored. Each can be painful in its own way.
THURSDAY.
While riding home on the bus, I pull off the headphones I’ve recently bought to readjust them. In so doing I discover that, due to their open design, the backs of the ear cups have been acting as speakers.What this means is that, unbeknownst to me, I’ve been sharing my music with everyone.
The idea that a busload of strangers has been able to judge me for my musical taste—examine me as I listen to “Dancing Queen” in the supposed privacy of my headphones—is mortifying. I review a long list of the public humiliations I’ve endured since the purchase, and stop myself after yesterday’s crowded elevator ride while listening to “Eye of the Tiger” for fear of inducing an anxiety attack.
Private music made public, walking against the foot traffic—this is what makes living among humans such a challenge. Society is a bunch of people who can perceive you in a way that you cannot perceive yourself.
I put the headphones back on and press play. I meet the gaze of the teenagers sitting opposite me. I tell myself that my new headphones are character-building as I lower the volume.