Sally Blue Jeep

Finally, the blue Jeep Wrangler was back in its usual parking spot in the shade of an old mesquite tree at the desert park where I walk in the morning. My new acquaintance, Sally, was in the driver’s seat her attention focused on her smartphone.  I popped my mask on, walked up to the window, kept a respectable 6 ft. away, and greeted her. She looked up, smiled, and added a mask as well.

“How far do you normally, walk?” she said.

“About two miles in the park, then another mile back to my casita,” said I.

She hopped out her Jeep, locked it, and said as we began to walk, “You’re lucky, you live much closer than me.”

You know the small talk you engage in when you’re meeting a new person and hoping to make a friend? That lasted about 10 minutes. We opened up to each other remarkably fast, I believe, because we both work in higher education (at home right now), love the outdoors, the desert, and drinking wine under dark, starry skies. Sally is married (4 years), no kids, and, like me, has no desire to “push a bowling ball out of her vagina” anytime soon. Someday, maybe, just not right now.

After we had walked our first mile, she blurted, “I know you’re wondering why I was crying Sunday before last.” I was, seriously wondering but not quite ready to ask.  She explained, “Maybe you remember the 21^st was Father’s Day? My dad died last year, the “big C got him” so I was missing him, feeling sad.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied, “I forgot what day it was.” And that’s true. I lost my dad a few years ago. During the months after he died, I felt as if I were drowning. Father’s Day doesn’t mean much to me because dad always said it was a Hallmark Card Day, not a real thing. But Sally was still in mourning.

I kept the silence of understanding for quite some time before Sally offered, “I drive to the park almost every morning for ‘Sally’ time. My husband works at home right now too so I get almost no time to myself. Our house is small – we’re tripping over each other.  He thinks I am just getting out to walk, but my hour or two here affords me some personal time to walk, to think, to text and talk privately with my friends.”

 Something in the way she said “… to text and talk privately…” triggered my imagination. I wanted to know more, but I instead of digging deeper, I shared my living situation – single, off for the summer but can’t travel, occasional guests, great neighbors, and cabin fever. She keyed on travel and I was embarrassed to share how much I have traveled. Sometimes people think that is pretentious. Sally didn’t. She was fascinated.

“I’ve seen you walking here,” she offered, “you always wear the cutest outfits. You look fit, confident.”  I was suddenly aware of my two sizes too small gym shorts.

“Thanks,” I said, and complimented her on how fit she seemed too. She was wearing a pair of Patagonia Barely Baggies shorts (I know because I have a pair) and a racerback tank.

We had walked our two miles in less than forty minutes. The time flashed by as it does when a conversation flows and is interesting. We agreed to walk again as Sally jumped back into her Jeep and I started for home. Sally started the Jeep but did not drive off. I think she spent some time on her phone before driving home.

I’m looking forward to getting to know my new walking friend. I hope this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.