Pt. 1
I stood there, not knowing what I was so afraid of.
Pt. 2
The Difference Between Balconies and Ledges is the railing security. On a ledge, a strong zephyr could push a stationary object into the implied abyss without much resistance, but on a balcony the railing will hold it there. For something to fall off a balcony it would be either a result of carelessness or deliberance. Either something got knocked off the sill by, lets generously say, a sauntering cat, ot else it had purposely been thrown.
Perhaps it threw itself.
But intent is an element on a balcony. With a ledge its all nature. Nothing is stopping the wind from pushing things off the edge.
Pt. 3
Jessica was outside smoking a cigarette and peering over the rail, looking deeply at who knows what. Beside her leaning arm was her mug of coffee, sweetened beyond my own tastes. I told her I'd be leaving and asked if she needed anything. Without changing pose she replied in the negative. I could see she had her thoughts.
Pt. 4
From my apartment to the store there is a sidewalk trail separating the housing complex from an adjacent park where children practice sports. The first thing you come across when you pass the threshold from private to public domain is a small gated dog park where bored adults sit and sigh to the ether as their animals for once let loose.
Normally, passing this area is a small joy, what with the unstoppable spirit prancing by the gate. But that day I was confronted by a large German shepherd who had ran out of the unlocked fence and sprinted around the side landscaping to growl at me.
Having spent my life around beasts of all kinds, I'm accustomed to unprovoked aggression, but it still causes alarm. I stepped back and cooed "puppy..." as though it were my own, but as soon as the word left my mouth I heard a second growl from behind my back.
The first dog's companion had produced hinself behind me and had me cornered at the edge of the chain-link fence. Despite my love of animals and nature, I also know that those things can be unpredictable. They can be dangerous.
I put my back to the fence and lightly muttered "no..." when the canine's owner ran out from the park and yelled "get back here!!!" towards his pets and almost concurrently "don't worry, they're nice" towards me. I accepted his platitude and he furthered, "they're never like this. I don't know what set them off."
The dogs ran back to their owner and I continued walking down the trail, shaken but still...
A voice came down spitefully from an unseeable balcony above the exterior fence, from my own apartment complex but from a section I am unfamiliar with, from some disembodied person who apparently witnessed my apprehension as they enjoyed their coffee and cigarettes.
He said, "I would have attacked you too."
I was flabbergasted at such an expression of impossible hostility, but then I realized I wss wearing Chargers blue, and even though I'm in Southern California, this will always be Raiders Nation for some reason.
Fucking animals.
Pt. 5
The end of the trail has multiple pairs of tied-together shoes hanging from the phone posts above. I've always wondered who does this because I walk down this trail all the time and not once have I seen an altercation or instance of bullying. But the amount of shoes on the line indicates that at some point in the recent past, some kind of low-level predator predated.
The thought of walking back without ample footing is a dismal one indeed.
I passed through the Town Center, past the gym and the beauty salon and the retail box where people spend entirely too much time purchasing things they barely want and do not need.
The sheer amount of products in that store is a reflection of how much is returned. As long as you keep your receipt you can continue that process of hyper-consumption ad infinitum without truly seeing a cost. You just return.
My path through the drug store is always very deliberate. The seventh aisle holds what I want. I pick it up and head to the register, awkwardly waiting behind others doing the same. All waiting for the same interaction and outcome.
Sometimes it feels like forever.
The ladies at the counter are familiar with me because I frequent this location fairly often, and despite my tendency towards vice that's clearly indicated by my usual purchases, they all display a certain level of relief upon a somewhat known visage.
Perhaps it is because I return.
Predictability can dull most anything, and comfort comes from the known.
During my exchange at the counter, three adolescents in baggy clothes walked in and immediately walked to the candy area, which happened to be directly next to the cashier station we were at. They grabbed some sweets and left our vicinity towards the beverage area.
With accusatory eyes peering - following them - the cashier said to me, "I always forget when kids start wearing jackets in here; I'm in the air conditioning all day so I don't feel the seasons change."
There was an implied air of aloof humor in her statement, but what she was actually saying was "I thought those hoodlum youths were going to attack and rob us both."
It was an odd thing to hear from this lady. Those kids looked like my little brother's friends.
I wonder what she really think about me.
Pt.6
On the way home I again pass by the storefronts underneath a concrete awning still bearing the faded imprinted insignias of former occupants. I glance at my reflection from the passing windows here and there to make sure I'm still who I think I am, and then then turn away quickly so as to deny my vanity from being seen by anyone else.
Thank goodness this place is empty.
On the way back to the dog-park trail, shoes still hanging overhead in the brewing evening darkness, a sewer system beneath the back alley rushes. In drier seasons, local ne'erdowells traverse the tunnels, now heavily graffitied and fondly nicknamed "Hell."
I went down there one time on Halloween. The walk from beginning to end, eventually pouring out near a medical complex, was just fine. It was the walk back, however, when I felt the needed fear sweep over me.
We realized about halfway through that we had taken the wrong tunnel and we didn't know where we were going, where we would end up, or how long it would take to get back. I had stepped in a puddle and every step I took squished with uncertainty.
We were surrounded by nothing, nothing but our own worry.
"What if I never get back?"
The trail from the store, conversely, is always somehow nicer on the way home, especially during this time of day when the sunset implies night but colors the remaining moments of light as though it were mournful for their loss. I started feeling content with the evening, looking to the sky and accepting that the day was done.
As I reached the top of the hill, near the opening to the dog park where the shepherds had earlier surrounded me, an elderly woman passed through the entrance from the apartment parking lot. She looked up at me as I approached and had a look of utter terror in her eyes when she perceived me. She stood concrete where she stood and clutched her handbag to her chest.
She thought I was going to do something bad. It made me feel odd so I just bowed my head and said "good evening" without making eye contact as I walkes past her, leaving ample room between our persons.
When I looked behind me upon reaching the parking lot she was carefully walking down the sidewalk, looking dead forward and continuing to clutch her things close to herself.
I wonder what she's had to deal with.
Pt. 7
I put my bags in my room and walked out to the balcony, leaning on the ledge and looking nowhere.
I stood there, not knowing what I was so afraid of.
