I Walk

4.

He sat on the bench for several minutes wondering what had just happened. Was it code? He worked the angles quickly coming up blank. As he ran through the mental files, flipping them like walking fingers, the process eliminated every possible scenario, save one. The last possibility standing was the one indicating that the seven words should be taken at face value, and nothing more. 

'Keep your cover and continue your practice.' Put your hat on and go to work? That’s it? 

Slightly irritated at the prospect, after all his expectation was for something far loftier, he relaxed on the bench and considered his response. Keep my cover and continue my practice. He played with the pronouns and tenses, still trying to make sense of it, as if it was a crossword puzzle at the breakfast table. For many years his MO had been to complete the puzzle as a prerequisite drill before the day would officially begin, a mental jump-start of sorts. His current streak was well over a decade. It was like his fitness routine, something that must be done - no matter what -  with dedicated and disciplined consistency. To him, that meant, every day. 

As he relaxed into the reality of the meeting, or non-meeting, he considered another interesting and tangential trajectory of his character. For some time now - he had often tried to pinpoint it but lost the trail every time between his heart procedure and big breakup with his gal - between those two dramatic turns of events and now, he had started to use the third person in his personal narrative. He did this, and then he did that. How schizophrenic and narcissistic when talking about yourself! Considering the reams of paperwork he had done over the years, both as de-briefs and as field reports, he had grown accustomed to the freedom and ease of objectivity they carried. Management approved, after all in surveillance you are reporting on someone’s actions, making it a natural progression to view your own movements, thoughts, efforts, interactions and corresponding re-actions as a camera might see them. Or a reporter from the Times. 

What the third person narrative gave as far as different camera angles and the ability to flash forward or review a back-story, it lacked the immediacy and holistic truth of the first person point of view. It was to the truth of the present moment that he worked tirelessly to infuse into his every action. Where the he is the I. Yes, the I is he but not watching, filming, accessing or judging, just doing. There is no post-production in the present moment. This is raw and real. There are no take two’s. This is live, real-time life in the fast lane. As a result it must be fluid, dynamically changing to the heartbeat of the present situation and circumstance. Not something in the past tense. RIGHT FUCKING NOW. In this business if you live in the past that is where you are burried. 

The dopamine now flowing through his bloodstream as a result of reeling time back into the present, precipitated a sudden jump to his feet. At this his newspaper flew into the wind as did the handful of pigeons who had settled beside him on the bench. He looked around sheepishly to find that no one had noticed his rash response to the organic stimulus. He felt like a fool, a novice, a rookie incapable of self-control. It was like one of those dreams where you awake with a start because you missed a step on the imaginary stairway. 

He walked away from the bench, shaking his head slightly in disgust. 

I walk.