half past nomad

The walk to campus leads me through almost the entire town. I start from the town park, neighboring the river at the base of the small mountains that idly sit next to it. The highschool right across my home, I put my back to as I walk away. I walk past the fire-station, the old closed grocery stores and that bookstore nobody even knows exists. Trees aplenty, a sea of coral reef of yellow leaves, I walk on broken pavement with rocking chairs set on porches, steps lined with plants and garden gnomes. I walk past the elementary school with its tiny Statue of Liberty set on the front. Sometimes, I walk past little children being lined outside to cross the road with their teacher. I get in line with them, at the back and walk slowly, marching to their teachers’ orders. They never catch me, they never will. I’m too wily for them young ‘uns.

I walk past the funeral home and the bridal wear store a few blocks before. I walk past 4 churches, each one fascinatingly sad and foreign to me. I walk past that huge gas station sprawled without a second thought to size, or how in larger cities that much land can fit in 2 gas stations, a 7-11 and maybe even a laundromat. Walking past it, I can almost see the tiny maximum security prison this town has to offer; JP lives 2 blocks from it, in perpetual anger at it being there.

I walk past the town post office and library and into the tiny downtown itself. From there, you can see the campus lying on the hill, looking down. I walk past banks, I walk past the Salvation Army, wondering where their saviour lies. I walk past small doctor offices with faded literature pasted to their windows and an ever growing stack of ancient magazines. I walk past the towns’ only independent art gallery, always pausing to peer in; I never seem to find it open. Yet the always changing items in the window lull pull call me.

I walk past Magnolia’s where I had an amazing meal last night. I walk past the colleges’ Ensemble Theater where they are currently playing a bad rendition of Poe’s ‘A midnight dreary’; for $3 it may be worth it, but my time costs more. I walk past the dollar store which always has plenty of generic soda brands proudly displayed. I walk past the fantasy bookstore, the print shop, the barely open coffee shop that always lets me read their TinTin comics for free. I walk past the disgusting Tobacco store, the 24-7 tanning booths and the new Singer store targeting all local grandma’s. I walk past the hippie store I like, located on the corner across from a church and wonder if they ever hook up. I walk past the bike store, the bagel shop, the barbershop and the town theater, shut down, with its large white marquee now advertising the tux store next to it.

I walk past the college pizza joints that are open till 4AM on weekends, the Greek store with that poster on its window with a woman holding a gyro and saying ‘It’s not greek to me!’; their baklava is too sweet. I walk past the goldsmith who remembers me and my instructions on what I need built. I walk past the jewelry store where Chick sits all day, whilst his 30 year old grandson runs the store. Chick met Ghandi, once. They always welcome me dropping by, conversing randomly; I always pick the topic and just start, with a ‘hello’ barely out.

I walk past the police station with its red neon sign, a signature from generations ago still etched and visible. I had to pay my first parking ticket there. I never walk in front of it though, always across the street from it, vary and cautious. And I’m at the base of my campus, my department at the top from where you can see for miles around, hills and curves of hidden valleys, imagination unable to fill in beauty God given.

I live two miles from campus and it takes me thirty seven minutes to walk to my department. And I finally understand why people choose to live really off campus.