walking the walk

There's something about a day of teaching that makes one want to go for a long walk with one's dog.

Normally, Bandit and I get in the car and drive to the dog park at Point Isabel if it's not too dark. Today, I didn't have it in me to get back in my car, so I did something I have never done since I moved here in July. I went for a walk around my neighborhood.

That may seem a bit hermit-like, and admittedly, it is. I think I was afraid of people seeing me and questioning what I was doing here. I don't look like I belong in this neighborhood. My car doesn't look like it belongs in this neighborhood. And my furry terrier with her pink leather harness certainly doesn't look like she belongs here.

There are plenty of dogs in the neighborhood, but I never see them out on walks. Mostly Pitts and Chihuahuas, they bark at my dog from behind fences and closed doors. The smaller dogs sound frantic with their high pitched barks. The bigger dogs sound like lions.

I figured I had about twenty minutes to explore the neighborhood before it got dark. My first instinct was to explore the area behind the row of apartments in front of me; this is where the kids run after throwing rocks at my house. I decided to leave that instinct alone and make a wide loop around the area. 

The first thing I noticed was that I was being stared at. A lot. I underestimated how unnerving it was to be constantly scrutinized. In fact, I guess I completely underestimated how much staring there would be. I lived in this neighborhood on purpose, and it was embarrassing to see how many people -- my neighbors -- were visibly surprised by my presence after nine months. I responded to the stares with an awkward wave and friendly smile. Happily, my waves and smiles were reciprocated.

I came upon an open area with barbecues and grass. It looked to be the recreational area for the surrounding apartments. The apartments and the lawn look brand new, although they're a few years old. I learned from my students that they razed an area called "Easter Hill" upon which my house was built as well as the apartments in the neighborhood. I think this is partly why I get looks with raised eyebrows when I tell my kids the general area where I live. I've had students turn to one another and say "Layfield stay on The Hill". I felt pretty special, even though I know the days of The Hill are close to over. The Hill is notorious for being home to the Easter Hill Boys, a local gang about which the local papers are continuously writing. Whether or not the gang still is active here, I don't know. I've read a few articles in the local paper that lead me to believe I'll be better off if they aren't.

Though it was getting dark, the recreation area was a sea of people. At first I thought there was some kind of party, but then I noticed that there wasn't really a central activity going on apart from a game of basketball. Groups of teens were standing around laughing. Some had cans hidden in paper bags.

One called over to me, "Hey. You live in this neighborhood?"
"Yeah," I responded carefully. I wasn't sure where this conversation was going.
"For real? I've never seen you."
"Yeah I do. I just don't go out for walks a lot."
I appraised him and his friends with a teacher's eyes. They looked maybe 19 or 20. Old enough to be some of my students. Bandit wagged and walked toward them. They recoiled.
"Don't sic your dog on us."
"She doesn't even know how to sic. She's really friendly."
"You're pretty."
Awkward.
"You guys probably know some of my students. I'm a high school teacher."
They looked at each other, eyebrows raised. Their faces said "oh snap."
"Where?"
"Over at Leadership."
"No, we don't know nobody over there."
"Oh I see. Well have a good day."
"Can I have your number?"
"I don't think my boyfriend would appreciate that. Goodbye."

As I walked away, I wished for a moment that I had engaged him in casual conversation about the kids throwing rocks. I'm sure he knew them, and I think putting a face to the crime would make an impact. I thought about turning around, but then decided against it. Probably not good to continue a conversation after my number was asked for. I saw his interest in having me as a neighbor decline sharply after I mentioned my boyfriend. Too bad. He seemed nice.

Bandit was excited by the interaction but upset at not being pet by the stranger. She was elated, then, to see two little girls running toward us as we turned the corner back onto my street. The younger one, a five year old with her hair in braids across her head, grinned at me showing a mouth sparse with teeth.
"Can I pet your dog?"
"Of course!" I smiled, letting Bandit cover the girl with slobber. Her older sister walked up and put her hands on her hips, obviously playing the caretaker of her younger sibling.
"She's five," said the older girl.
"Oh," I remarked. I'm not used to younger kids after spending all day with high schoolers. I was rusty.
"I'm ten," the older girl said pointing at herself.
"Very cool," I said. "Bandit likes you guys."
The younger one giggled.
"I used to have dogs, but mommy gave them to her friend."
"They ran away," the older one stage whispered.
We chatted casually for a bit, and I explained that I was a teacher. This got both girls talking about their teachers. They both hated the teachers at their school.
"My teacher doesn't teach history or science because he doesn't like history or science. We just do math all day."
"My class is kindergarten but most kids can't even count to ten. The preschool can already count to twenty."
"She got sick," the older one pointed at her sister, "and they gave her a packet of work this big." She held out her hands. "She still didn't learn nothing."
"Bummer," I frowned. That explains a lot.
I told them about where I worked and that we just had a College Week. They were enthralled as I told them about my 12th graders and where they want to go to college. They're bright girls; they asked me great questions and giggled as they told me about their friends at their school.
"I have a guy friend who's evil but I still call him my friend because he is my friend, but I think he likes me and people think we're dating because we always hang out." The older girl giggled and stepped backward with the sudden force of her laughter. Clearly, not much changes between fifth grade and high school.
As it started to get dark, I told Bandit to say "see you later" to the two girls and walked off as they skipped back home.

On the last stretch to my house, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Two older boys holding bikes stared at me as another ran up the path to join them.

I don't know why, but suddenly I knew these were the boys who throw rocks at my house. It was a gut feeling; perhaps I saw their faces once as they ran away and stored them in my memory until that moment.

I think they knew who I was somehow too. Their faces were masks of stern recognition. I raised my hand and saw their knuckles whiten on the handles of their bikes. I waved with my raised hand and softly said, "Hi."
The smaller one instinctively began to wave back, then glanced at his older friend to see what he would do. Slowly, they both waved hello.
Their features relaxed and I realized in that moment that they had been scared. I felt my grip on Bandit's leash and realized that I had been scared too.

I walked off into the dusk feeling very strange. I still feel very strange.

I'm still collecting the thoughts as they swirl around in my skull, but the best I can collect them is in this: Everyone is scared. People who act tough, people who are tough, people who walk around carrying guns.

Everyone is scared and the only truly good and truly bad things happen in this world when we start pretending we're not scared when we are.

In that moment with those boys, we were both terrified. They could have torn off on their bikes without making eye contact with me. I could have pretended not to see them, or worse, turned around and gone the other way.

Instead we shared a profound moment, steeped in our own fear.