It was a wickedly humid, blisteringly hot morning. To take a walk or not to take a walk? That was the question.
After much backing and forthing, the healthy twin won and off I went. I needed a knife to cut through the slog. Every step felt like ten.
My routine takes me to the end of Calhoun Street and back again. A gentleman by the name of Robert lives in a house near my turning point. We’ve met once or twice and have agreed to wave and say good morning to each other as I walk by.
He usually sits way back in his dark garage, radio blaring. I can’t be sure if he’s there or not but I greet him regardless.
If he’s there we say good morning to each other. Otherwise, I just wave into the vacuum.
This morning was business as usual. I waved as I went by and got a nice “Hello, there. Have a good one.” in return.
As I walked on a few steps, I heard someone else speak. And what I heard made that sloggy, mushy walk worth it all.
“Hey, Robert,” said the other voice from deep inside the garage. “Who’s that girl wavin’ at you?”
And with those words, especially that one word, the humidity lifted, there was a spring in my step and my ego, at least for a brief moment, was flying high.
With that kind of jump-start to the day, I think I should go to the liquor store. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll card me.