Paige opened her journal and gazed at the blank pages, wanting to write something for her session with Dr. Hackney on Tuesday, but the words did not come. An hour and two cups of coffee later, Paige showered and dried her hair, dressed in warm layers of clothing and pulled on her winter boots and coat, wound her thick scarf around her neck and a yanked on her hat. She set off with her journal in her tote bag, walking through fluffy new snow over snow that was icy and packed down, watching her breath fog around her face.
She kept walking, not sure of what time it was but for the sun’s half-risen position in the sky. Wells Lake was sleeping in, the main road deserted. She walked past Carmen’s grocery, and it was closed. At the end of the snowy road on the corner, Darnell’s was closed. She wondered if he would open later. She wondered what had happened there the night before.
Paige kept walking, picking up her pace, feeling warmer, her heart beginning to beat faster. Just not fast enough. Last night was out of control, she thought. She was back to where she had been what felt like years ago. She found herself pumping her arms as she marched along. She circled the lake in the park. A few children were ice skating with their shivering parents looking on, hunched in their down parkas.
A few minutes later Paige found herself stopped in front of Dr. Hackney’s office door. Had this been her destination all along, she wondered. She had brought her journal with her, so perhaps it was. The door was unlocked, and Paige walked through to the inner office and pushed the door open a crack. She could see Dr. Hackney at his desk, hunched over, possibly dead but more likely asleep. The embers in the fireplace glowed red. The beam of dusty light shining through the high window welcomed her inside. There was also a whistling sound coming from another room. Paige realized Dr. Hackney had left the kettle on in the adjoining kitchen.
Paige set a cup of tea on the desk, checked to be sure the good doctor was breathing, and hung up her coat and hat on the wooden stand by the door. She flopped onto the couch and pulled out her journal, ready to write now that her mind had been awakened by her long walk. She scribbled out a few pages about the previous night, finishing with a short list of new goals for this new year.
Goals for the year 2011:
She crossed this out and began again.
Goals for the beginning of 2011:
Frustration mounting, she scratched this out as well, her pen tearing through the page.
Goals for January 1, 2011:
Paige sat with her pen poised under the heading, waiting for an idea to hit. She wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed when Dr. Hackney stirred at his desk and lifted his head.
“Aah,” he said, looking down at the cup of tea next to his papers. He looked pleased, and sipped it. The he set down the cup and blinked at it, confused. With considerable struggle, he shifted sideways, and grasped the top of his desk chair back to help him twist to see who was in the room. Paige plastered a bright smile on her face and waved, hoping he would think they had an appointment that he had forgotten, even though it was New Years day.
The old man labored to his feet and shuffled over to the chair beside the couch, settling down into it and laying his hands on his knees. He pulled his round glasses down his nose a bit and looked over them at her, expectantly.
Paige handed him the journal and he smiled and cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said, “let’s see what we’ve got.” After a few minutes, he handed it back to her. “Well, well, let’s start with Happy New Year, shall we?”
Paige nodded, pleased that he was the first person to speak to her this year, and say just that.
“Let’s forget about what happened last night,” he said. “Things happen. We’ll work it out later. Let’s talk about this.” He pointed to her non-list, twice revised in just the headings. Paige waited.
“When you are thinking about what you are supposed to be doing with your life, what you want your life to be, you’re thinking too large. You were right to start with just today.”
Paige’s lip trembled a little. She wrote “I was?” and held up the journal.
Dr. Hackney smiled. “Yes, of course. Start with today, and work up to tomorrow, and then to the next few months. What is it that you want to do, now?”
Paige looked down at the journal, she looked at the pen in her hand.
Hackney went on. “These small desires become small accomplishments, which are the bricks in the road that will take you where you need to go. Don’t focus on the end of the road, focus on building the road. Brick by brick.” He reached out and took her hand in his and squeezed. Paige was startled by the strength of his grip.
“Every day is a new day,” he said. “Every day that you wake up, alive, is a fresh chance to get it right. So.” He dropped her hand and looked at her expectantly. “What do you want to do, right now?”
Paige lifted her pen and wrote on the page.
I want to run.
II. The Useless Flirtation
November, 2004
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I hope I’m not intruding, and I hope that it’s not a problem that your landlady (now ex-landlady) gave me your email address. She did refuse to give out your phone number, if that helps you to forgive her. My name is Jeremy, and I am the architect working with the crew rebuilding the townhouse on North 27th Street. I found some of your belongings that were not destroyed by the fire. I was hoping to return them to you. Please email back so we can arrange a time and place to meet. You can check with Mary, I’m not a psycho. She knows me.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Thank you, I can’t imagine what those things could be. Honestly, we thought everything must have been incinerated so we didn’t even look beyond the front downstairs room. Can the items be mailed? I don’t want you to have to make a special trip anywhere.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
They were in an upstairs closet that didn’t sustain much damage. Surprising, because most of the upstairs looked like a hollowed out lump of coal.
If we could meet somewhere where wine is served, it would be no trouble at all. J
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Okay. There’s a restaurant in the neighborhood called Rembrandt’s. Do you know it? We could meet there.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Ah, I had a feeling you were adventurous enough (or bored enough?) to take me up on that. Love it. When shall we meet?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
How’s Sunday night? My husband will want me out of the house anyway because his fantasy football group will be at our place watching the game.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
That would be perfect. My wife will want me out too. Book club (yawn). 7:00? I know what you look like because I saw a picture of you and your husband on a downstairs wall. I grabbed that too, in case you want it back.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
How will I know you?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I’ll be in the roller skates and sombrero.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
What if there are other men there in roller skates and sombreros?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Good point. I’ll also be wearing a gray scarf.
February, 2005
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
So, perhaps it is being cooped up in the office too much, or the blizzards we have been experiencing lately, but I have had time to think. And what I’m wondering is this. As we have been spending more and more time together, when we are free, how do you see our relationship has changed? Do y
ou believe certain relationships are meant to be, something stirs in the universe and we meet, so randomly, whereas we never would have met on the street, in a bar, or at a party?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Where is all this coming from? You are an Aquarius (happy birthday, by the way, I hope Cara took you somewhere nice), not a Pisces (like myself). We appear to have switched personalities. You’re meant to just blow around on whatever breeze comes through. I’m sure the one you’re on will shift shortly and I’ll never see you again, so I’ll just say, no, I don’t believe in “meant to be”. Don’t try to figure out a Pisces or how they factor into your life. It’s an enigma. Let it be.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I suppose I actually agree with your answer. I’ve never been a big believer in meetings or occurrences being meant to be, necessarily, but I can fairly say that the way we met and our compatibility was a bit more odd than any of my other experiences. That being said…It’s not as though I see a purpose behind it all, I was just curious as to what you thought.
As far as my being in analysis mode…I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s my way of reflecting on having turned another year older, a new year of my life. A page turned. Maybe it’s just taking the time to stop and think for a minute. As an Aquarian, I don’t spend a lot of time on details, as you so kindly pointed out. Everything is about the future, the big picture. What’s coming up…The whole vision thing. I sometimes can’t see the trees for the forest? But, occasionally I find myself stopping to put the tangible things under a microscope and pay more attention to the touchable here and now. You’re that touchable, Paige, and I’m trying to figure out what is supposed to happen.
You Pisceans frustrate the hell out of me! Always have. Enigma you say? Yes, I agree wholeheartedly. You swim in murky waters, thrive on contraries because they are more fun to you than contradictions. Nothing is hot or cold, black or white. You would prefer to tell me that you see moments, colors, shifts and blends. The answer to a question is not what’s important. If you look hard enough, it’s a refocusing of all questions to what the Pisces sees and feels. Yet, you won’t describe it definitively, leaving us to ponder the Pisces and what makes her tick.
It’s positively…Anti-Aquarian.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Yes, but isn’t that what you Aquarians find so appetizing about us?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Indeed. But then we walk away, licking our lips, and realize suddenly that we didn’t eat.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I’m glad we’re friends.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I am glad we’re friends too. Sincerely glad.
June, 2005
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sorry I’ve had to cancel on you so much lately. Cara’s pregnant and needy and this job is truly more aggravation than money-making. I would love to be like you, mulling over grad school for the past year, but not forced into action because of David’s fast-growing salary.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Are you mocking David’s salary? Or my not working?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Of course not. Neither. I’m just thinking that I would be much happier if I was independently wealthy and therefore free. Like yourself.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I’m dependently wealthy. And you’re married. You’re never really going to be free.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Yes, but being incredibly wealthy would help me feel more free. I need a millionaire plan. Any ideas? Let’s put our heads together on this one (wink).
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Well, there’s the incredibly shallow, albeit effective method – make your next marriage be to a very wealthy woman. Then there’s always starting your own wildly-successful business, or knocking over banks. But that’s all so much work. I’m inclined to recommend Plan A.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
How much money do you have? Ballpark?
April, 2006
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I’m guessing you are on your terrace, overlooking the posh Rittenhouse Square, as you have, once again, taken another giant step over me with David, into wealth and fabulousness. No chance of you going to work or grad school, now. How’s the new place? Are you all unpacked?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
You are correct, I’m on the terrace with the laptop. We are all unpacked. We don’t have a huge amount of stuff. We’re both minimalists when it comes to our possessions. I have always been like that, probably because of being moved around through the years and not wanting to lug a lot of things along with me. David, I’m not sure why he doesn’t collect more things. It’s almost like we lost everything in the fire and then simply didn’t bother to replace much of it. But I’m glad he didn’t. It would drive me batty. I’m glad you were able to come out last night. I guess Cara didn’t miss you?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
No, she’s too exhausted with the baby to miss me. I didn’t even lie to her, I just said I was going out and she mumbled that I had better not wake them when I came in. But enough about all that…
You looked so hot last night. So sleek, cool and aloof. You have the most beautiful hair, Paige. And your legs in that skirt with the boots…It was all I could do to not attach myself to your neck like a remora.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Does that make me the shark?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Indeed it does, my dear. And to see you sneaking a cigarette, when you quit years ago…It’s just too much. I love a rebel – especially one so complicated as to rebel against themselves! I certainly went to bed with steamy dreams.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
You are bad to the bone. I feel as if am always trying to quit something. Now perhaps more than one thing. It’s like I’m trying to pare my life down further and further. What am I thinking is going to be left? But, (she says, checking her reflection in her coffee spoon) I am sure you will be the one to tempt me to…light another cigarette.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
It was nice running into you last night outside Rembrandt’s. I was surprised to see you smoking, didn’t you quit in college? And who was that tall fellow you were with? Couldn’t have been David. I remember he was barely your height.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I know, Lucien, I haven’t seen you since you transferred out of Penn Junior year.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Avoiding the question, eh? I won’t ask it again. I guess it’s a touchy subject. Certainly a hidden one, though the gentleman in question wasn’t hiding the rapture on his face very well when you walked back in. I would have come over after talking to you outside but I didn’t want to interrupt. And I sensed he wouldn’t want to be introduced to anyone.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
You make it sound so shady. It’s not like that, we’re friends.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Since when do you have friends?
To: [email protected]
What’s that supposed to mean?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Let me rephrase. You spend time with people. But you were laughing with this one. You were glowing. You’re not one who glows.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I never glowed with you?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
No. But let’s get back to you, what are you doing, exactly?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I don’t know. Maybe I need to glow a little.
Running Against Traffic Page 14