I’m nineteen,
walking a dog
at 2 AM. I spot
Red Hoodie. He
pauses. I walk
faster. I make the
block 3 times after.
1st time: ignores his
conversation partner.
2nd time: is gone.
3rd time: follows me in
his car. I look at the
sidewalk
to guide me back home.
I’m twenty-four with
a complex about being
twenty-four. I don’t walk
dogs for hours at a time at
2 or 3 in the morning anymore.
I’m at the gym like a normal person,
but
doing cardio and sweating
embarrassingly unlike the regulars.
I spot a Red Hoodie. A hiding figure.
Always perplexed by enigmas, wishing
to emulate their desperate and blinding
need to be Seen and Unseen. A ghost.
Or my delusions fading into my reality.
The entertainment has me uncaring.
Fire can’t be kept hidden. No eye contact, but admire me regardless. Let’s not engage.
I just want to be seen.
Walking contradictions.
We’re surrounded by mirrors. If we pass up the sign, we have to make the block again.
Again.
And again.