Wander
“I wandered lonely as a cloud.” --William Wordsworth
The streets are dark and dangerous. Black like a panther, I can almost see the claws of all the people walking around me, ready to attack at any sign of a threat. Their eyes dart back and forth. They live in a world of fear and I am amused by this.
I have wandered so long on these lonely streets up and down them night after night in rain and heat that the fear they present to those less familiar with them than myself no longer registers in my own brain. In fact, I think some of them have seen my meanderings so often they begin to wonder about me. And again, I am amused.
What do they wonder about me?
In their minds am I the rapist who is only looking for the right moment to violate them? The young girl with the glasses and the barely concealed pepper spray lingering always outside the bookstore certainly thinks this.
She thinks that about everyone.
Am I the compulsive purse-stealer looking for the biggest purse with the biggest amount of cash and the easiest target? The old woman in the designer clothing and the expensive jewelry seems to think so as she hugs her own purse drunkenly to her breast, eyeing me as I walk by.
I think she’s too busy wasting her money in the bars to be a worthwhile target anyway.
Or am I the nice young man who always offers a smile to the little girl with the leg braces? The one whose father protectively holds her hand as they cross the street together, both striking up easy banter with me about the weather and where I’m originally from.
The little girl is sweet and she always smiles back at me.
Am I the intelligent art student who strikes up conversations with the artist who likes to paint his pictures while standing on the sidewalk because his apartment is too cramped? He compliments me on my vast knowledge and critical eye. I even bought a painting of his once. It’s hanging on the wall behind my bed.
He does nice work. Maybe someday I’ll see his stuff in a museum somewhere.
In all my wanderings, I have yet to figure out which of these descriptions is most accurate. But these are all of the people I’ve met along the way, most more than once. The occasional bum or particularly violent drunk are the exception, but of these people, I am not afraid. They are just the ghosts of my wanderings.
"Not all who wander are lost." --J.R.R. Tolkien
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