There was some dry grass on the ground next to the pavement. Where there was dry grass, there was also light colored dirt. I was in the city and walking along the flat streets past rows of stately houses.
I wasn't in a hurry, but I had a place I meant to be. As I walked, I passed a woman in her front yard on wet knees, digging in the grass with a little dandelion picker. She lifted her head with a friendly gesture as I walked by.
My body felt heavy as I walked along, with a notorious ache that I can't seem to medicate away with a muscle band heat strip. When I walk, it feels like my muscles are struggling against a large amount of resistance from gravity. I have a lot of sadness weighing me down.
I slip my phone back out of my pocket, as I had been doing occasionally in my walk. But, it makes me feel more rushed, as though I am enacting a persona of multitasking walking and texting because I have so much going on, to do and to go to. Uncomfortable, I finger the phone a little bit and scroll through a past text message. The phone's screen has poor contrast in the bright sunlight of midday, and little beads of sweat from my fingers are dripping from my thumb.
I swallow and feel my throat juice a little with saliva, but I'm thirsty. I'm walking over to the railroad tracks. I have with me a small purse with my wallet and some business cards that were handed to me in networking parties. I don't have a business card, but if I had one, perhaps it should just be brown if it'll be drifting around in my satchel with the other ones.
I wish the walk there wasn't so long, my clothing is feeling more troublesome in the heat. The simple discomfort of sticky socks around hot feet is brandishing some misery today. As I'm walking down the street from the city to the railroad tracks, its mostly quiet. A few cars head by, probably excited to be heading out of town.
I think again about distracting myself with my self phone, or saving myself. Neither fits the bill too well between my mood and my motivations. I don't want to be encumbered in my task, thinking about who will have what judgements over me. The worst is thinking about the people who don't really know me, and hear the news.
At least the people who know me will have enough of a pained reaction to stifle their curiosity. 'Why did she do it?' they will wonder, but it will be alongside pain or fury or fear for my soul. Or none of those things, I haven't known someone directly who's killed themselves. But I do know how the others would react - those who don't know me and have only heard of me through others, from a smatter in a conversation. These I have seen in family conversations, these are the ones I don't want involved in my life. They will think about it with curiosity, their eyebrows will go up high with their mouths hung open, and it will be their news to gossip about for the day.
So I touch my pocket but don't pull out my phone. I could tell Jennie, she wouldn't be too judgemental of me. She might not be able to help me out soon though. Does she have others she would discuss with? Call her mom, or her friend, while she tells me to hang tight? I sigh, silently thanking her for being sweet but deciding not to involve her, that we aren't close enough for such a call.
I nearing the railroad tracks and looking to how far up in the vegetation I'll be heading. Here the railroad tracks are dusty iron. There are a few roadside bushes, a tobacco tree, and they look parched in the surrounding dry landscape. On the ground is a crushed aluminum soda bottle glinting in the sun.
There's a lot of weeds in this part of the city and its where one comes to walk down to the river. On past trips, I couldn't help but notice and solder into memory that of a shrub that seems a little welcoming to me. Its a roadside weed, a nightshade tomato plant, with leaves that dry up in summer poisonous black seeds.
I find my bush I remember up ahead, a few feet from the quiet tracks. With little else to do now, I take out my plastic baggie and begin picking the seedpods out from their little niches around the plant. I take more than I might need, figuring it doesn't matter. I'm feeling fairly involved in my task, inspecting the pods so I don't take the shriveled ones that might have lost their potency earlier in the season. I feel better than I've been feeling and might actually like to hear a little noise like a radio.
I'm shaking my plastic baggie so the seeds don't stick into the corners; I have just a small line of the seeds resting at the bottom of the plastic baggie's walls. The sun is hot behind me on my back. I hear some noise behind me as two people are walking up from the direction of the river. I turn around to see a male and female walking towards me with a casual manner. They look content. The girl has a sweep of brown hair that rests loosely in a mass of large curls. She has long arms and is dressed in a breezy sundress. The man has long hair and a skinny frame, and he's got leather sandals on his feet under fishermans pants.
The couple comes up the road and with sudden excruciating self awareness, I look at them distantly, with my mind wary. They appear unaware and greet me with a strong 'Hey hows it going' from the girl. 'Yeah, fine how are you?' I ask back. 'oh we're hot coming back from the river, we needed a break!' she says, smiling at her man with the smile of happy adventurers.
'What are you picking?', she asks,
She's bending over in interest, eyeing the plant's wobbly exterior and imaging what it might be used for. 'We love foraging', says the man, talking to me, 'there's all sorts of cool stuff around here by the river'. I'm stiffly holding the plastic bag of dry berries in the one hand, the other cocked across my chest. Our group attention turns together to the plant. 'But I didn't know about this one ...' he says. They are expectant. They want a neat story about how the berries can be eaten raw or added to a dish or made into jam. I try to imagine something about how only tiny amounts of it are used in cooking, any more than that and it will ruin the flavor. Or how its something for a personal issue, but what if they ask what it is. But any small amount of seed could be enough to poison them and whoever they share with. I'm stuck without a solution to get them safely on their way, interest flattened.
Anyways, its too late and the girl is already reaching out to touch a cluster of the small black berries, maybe she wants to try one. A thought comes to mind and with a cough I speak, and pull her hand down. 'No- they aren't edible.' 'I just use them in drawing - to dye with'. I nervously look at my plastic baggie held tight in my clenched hand.
Perhaps they sense my unease because they say 'cool' and leave me with my berries. These goddam hippies, I think to myself. They'll rest in peace.
I was bent over and my back was hot with the sun shining down.
I was moving towards the railraod tracks where I'd last viewed
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