*7*

Bob got up from Denise's bed. The box springs creaked, damn, Bob thought, as he tried to avoid waking her. He got a foot tangled in the sheets and the springs creaked again. He shook his head at himself. Denise stirred, slightly awakened, and moved back into the netherworld between here and dreamland.

He had a hankering for a walk. The mid-morning light diffused through the painted windows, coloring the floor like a kid's box of crayons spilled haphazardly across a desk. A jumble of sundry colors. He pulled on a shirt and his underwear and got down on the floor to do some pushups. After doing as many as he could, around fifteen, he pushed himself back onto his knees and then arose. He donned his pants, some clean socks and his walking shoes. He checked in his pants pockets for his keys, wallet and nail clippers. Bob peeked inside his wallet, in the tiny plastic pocket, to make sure that he had his emergency quarter, in case he got stranded and needed to make a phone call.

Denise rolled over underneath the sheet, "Where are you going?"
"Hmm - for a walk."

She smiled silently to herself. Bob loves to walk. It brings him in touch with the world, humanity, nature, art, his spirit. He would share these feelings and adventures through his mental attachment.

Her inward smile smelled neither sweet nor bad. "I'll be back soon," he said.

He touched her rear beneath the sheets. He left the bedroom, headed down the stairs and opened the door. As he was leaving, he felt an urge to stay and protect the woman that he loved. Was it pangs of anxiety from his imagination? What if, while he was away, a stranger or former boyfriend broke in and raped and killed her? He closed and latched the door... double checked the lock, there. She would be safe inside. He thought of nothing long enough to realize that his mind had temporarily gone blank. The smell of plants mingled with the smell of the city. Light and shadows, sounds of distant traffic, the everyday aura of city life that a busy mind ignores.

The trees in the entry courtyard were green and glistening. Bob bent down to touch his toes, as a bit of a starting stretch. The warming air had burnt away the morning fog about an hour and a half ago. He exited the courtyard and at the sidewalk, he turned left. Trees, bushes, grass along the curbside. Parked cars. Autos in this neighborhood were always an awakening. As it was a mixed community, one could readily find a beat-up sixties Rambler (parked askew, front wheels to the curb, back wheels two feet out, paint peeling) next to a shiny brand-new gray Mercedes, so new it still had the cardboard insert in the license plate holder. Bob often imagined the cars talking to each other.

"Hey 'Cedes," the Rambler would say, with a mixture of taunt and admiration. "Where ya' goin today?"
The Mercedes would smile back, speaking in a somewhat highfalutin German tone: "Oh, I suppose the usual. Shopping mall, beach club, car wash."

Bob stretched his stride, paying attention to the muscles in his legs. He always started his walks with a combination of stretching, loosening up and finding his stride. His mind drifted, and the passing apartments and cars faded into the blur of the background. Telephone lines, telephone poles. He imagined the billions of electrons streaming over the phone wires: people talking to one another, business deals (some of them shady), lovers cooing at one another, money transfers from Switzerland. The ocean flow of emotions traveling over high-wires strung between the creosoted redwoods.

Walking allowed him mental separation: movement provided Bob with his own little bastion of privacy. He reviewed the flow of love and spiritual contours of his relationship with Denise. He couldn't describe it in words, it was just there - neutrinos passing through, a flux of phonons, gravity waves. He briefly focused back in, to cross the street. The break in concentration that he opened began to slowly expand. He admired the architecture of the passing apartments. Lintels and arches, bricks in basket-weave walkways. Denise schwooped a packet of love back to her morning ablutions.

Bob started to hit his stride now. His muscles flowed effortlessly, one leg after the other, pushing the ground back beneath him, a set, natural rhythm. He always enjoyed this part of the walk, the effortless part, the natural part. Through millions of years of man's evolution, walking has always been a large part of natural survival. Now, in the modern world - office desk jobs, cars driving everywhere - the amount of walking is seriously limited. A natural man would, oh, probably spend two or three hours every day just walking.

So he walked whenever he got the chance. It got all the parts of his body working right together, helped him think clearly and put his life into perspective. Only those thoughts that come by walking have any value.

He noticed an amazingly beautiful tree up ahead, covered in brilliant purple flowers: a jacaranda. It's one of the largest, most brilliant jacarandas I've every seen. The ground at its base flaunted purple. The soul and spirit of the tree defined the entire block: it embodied the feng-shui of the house that it towered over. He gently and briefly interlaced his soul with the place, then released it, traveling on and taking nothing.

Up ahead, an incredible apartment: weeping with history, turrets and a slate roof. The stain from fifty years of winter drizzle trickled down the limestone walls. Dark small windows, the residents inside shuttered away in their own private worlds. An out-of-place miniaturized castle in a modern neighborhood.

On the other side of the street, about a block away, he spied a man walking in his direction, slightly younger than him, with long hair in dreadlocks. Simultaneously their souls touched and, hello, shook hands. They sized each other up ...
· no, not a threat, okay to continue and explore a bit further each other's souls, defenses down
· completely different backgrounds, virtually no overlap of culture or heritage
· walking in common, an appreciation of the walk, of the environment
· no future meetings

Bob nodded, eyes deferred. The gentleman across the street did the same. They mingled briefly (the touch, each together acknowledging that they had lingered too long) and broke off. Bob felt the confirmation in his soul; yes, he had been summoned for this walk just to briefly touch souls with this person.

Bob headed back to his girlfriend's apartment. He unlocked the door and entered. Denise, barefoot in the kitchen, shuffled things around in the cupboards and cooked breakfast on the stove. Bob gave her a gentle hug from behind and kissed the back of her neck, a little high, getting a curl of hair.