One Page #30

I am not quite clear. The shadow passed through my arm, not over my arm. It felt cold and sent a chill up to my shoulder. I looked back, thinking I might see what it was. But it was gone. I was in shadow. The trees were dripping on my head, falling through my body to the ground where they puddle and spread out and away as if scared of being to close to my feet. My feet were rooted far into the ground below the gravel and the dirt and the dark dampness far below. The cold traveled up and met my heart and my head and forced my eyes closed. My fingers were unsteady, shaking a bit. When someone walked by, so purposeful and determined, she didn’t seem me even though she passed inches away from my rooted body. Her eyes were focused forward only, glancing occasionally at the ground to make sure that she didn’t misstep. I thought maybe she would trip and fall into me so that I could see whether she would fall through me or into my chest hands first. But she didn’t trip or fall into me, but passed by arms swinging. I bird overhead watched her as well, maybe hoping for a spare crumb from the bagel in her hand, or maybe protecting a nest in the branches far above. Neither of us moved as she walked by, and soon she had disappeared out from under the line of trees and into the sun. A small child toddled along near me, poked my knee, and wandered on. Her finger met my pant leg and I felt the pressure on my kneecap and into the bones and tendons like a quick shock to my nerves. My nerves. I was shaking. The child hid behind a tree and peaked out to look at me once before disappearing again. The mother raced by. I knew she was the mother because the child, even though she was only a couple of years old, looked exactly like the mother. It was in the eyes. The mother didn’t see me and nearly passed over me. But she didn’t notice, arms flailing, looking for her girl in the polka dot dress holding a worn brown teddy so scruffy and soft. I was shaking. My feet were rooted. The cobblestones rumbled. A truck passed and then all was quiet again. Leaves fluttered down from the trees, silently, like ghosts falling to the ground and settling. With a gust of wind they lifted and swirled around my legs and then out into the street. They passed through me. Only the child with the brown teddy had seen me, touched me, looked back as if to make sure I was still there, to make sure I was real. I was real. And I was shaking. The air was perfumed with fall as if the leaves took on a scent when they turned from green to red or orange or brown. The air brushed against my cheek as if it were a hand caressing. I was still shaking.