the Lady with the Dog
Baraka recently moved. As she was preparing to leave the neighborhood where she had lived for the past 5 years–taking pictures and walking by her usual haunts for the very last time–I was reminded of my own move just a year ago, from the apartment I had lived in for my first three years in San Francisco.
My old roommate and I ate at Shalimar the night before we moved out. We considered it our neighborhood joint–the guys behind the counter knew our names and placed our regular order right when we walked through the door. We were able to say goodbye and let them know that they wouldn’t be seeing us around anymore because we were leaving the neighborhood. But I often think about all the other people who I used to run into on a daily basis–what are they up to and do they wonder what happened to me?
There was the crosswalk lady with the orange vest in Chinatown, holding up the STOP sign so the little Chinese kids could make it safely onto school grounds without getting plowed over by MUNI bus 30 or cars trying to get through rush hour traffic. The tall, elderly gentleman, who nodded to me each morning as we passed each other on the steep Russian Hill, he effortlessly strolling downhill, me huffing, puffing and sweating my way uphill. Then there was the lady with the dog. She looked a like a typical San Francisco hippy, long graying hair and a messenger bag adorned with peace buttons and patches slung across her chest. She would smile at me as I walked by, patiently waiting for her dog to finish up his morning business.
I unexpectedly saw her in the financial district last week. We were standing kitty-corner from each other at an intersection, waiting for the light to change so we could cross the street. I saw her before she saw me. When she glanced my way, her face lit up–she grinned at me and waved enthusiastically. The look on her face seemed to say, “there you are! I was wondering what happened to you!”
The light changed and we both went our separate ways once again.
Thank you for the Lady with the Dog.
