Dean Poling
He walks back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Watching for a moment, he appears hypnotized. Watch him too long, he’ll hypnotize the viewer, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
He keeps the same pace. He seems to pace off his course. He walks a certain number of feet along the sidewalk one way before turning and walking the same number of paces the other way.
Then, he turns and walks the path again.
He seems penned in by the cracks in the sidewalk. He seems imprisoned by the lines in his face.
He can walk further. Sometimes, he does. He’ll walk around the block. He’ll circle several blocks. Sometimes, when he returns, he breaks into a run, a sideways trot, a hunched-over, rubber-band gait. Even during the run, his face remains pinched, downcast, eyeing his feet passing along the cement and asphalt below.
But mostly, he sticks to his path within the confines of a few yards of sidewalk, back and forth ...
He smokes a cigarette during these walks. Or maybe, he walks to smoke his cigarette. His feet move a certain number of paces. The cigarette burns between two fingers. The arm extends. He flits any ash off the end of the cigarette. His arm rises. He takes a quick drag. He exhales smoke. His arm and the smoke return to his side. A few steps later, the cigarette travels the same motions.
Part of the pacing, the out and up and down of the cigarette are part of the man’s locomotion. Smoke drifting away like steam from a cartoon robot. His movements crisp as if smoking a cigarette were a military act — a soldier moving his rifle in formation.
Everything well contained from the number of steps to the thoughts motivating those steps. He seems willfully trapped in this route, in this concentrated automation of mind and body.
Until, you see him on a bicycle ...
Then, he is no longer a man on a sidewalk. He is like a boy on a bicycle. His legs pump the pedals. He leans into the handlebars. He speeds along the sidewalk breaking the force field that keeps him in the back-and-forth barriers of his pacing.
He’s walked the line for so long. On the bike, he colors outside of the lines, like using every color in the box. He pedals down side streets. His head and shoulders pushing past the handlebars. His eyes no longer downcast but glowing like rising suns. A smile shatters the lines of his face.
He is free.
For a few minutes, he is free.
At least, until he returns, the bike put away, and he steps outside for a smoke along his stretch of sidewalk, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, while the bike rests safely waiting ...
Dean Poling is The Valdosta Daily Times assistant managing editor. His book, “Waiting for Willie,” a novel, is on sale at The Valdosta Daily Times’ 201 N. Troup St. offices.
