Sally

Most mornings I try to walk 3-4 miles on the roads and trails in the mountain parks around my little neighborhood. My favorite little park, where my secret "arroyo" is, has a tiny parking lot, a covered meeting area, restrooms, and water. A few old, large mesquite trees line the parking lot and offer shade to any vehicle parked under them.

For the last few weeks, most mornings, a pretty, dark blue Jeep Wrangler has been parked under one of the mesquites. Usually, in the driver's seat, a cute little brunette is seated, hovering over her iPhone. I walk by on my way to the trailhead and if she happens to look up, I wave. She usually waves back but concentrates on her phone.

Once or twice, the jeep has been empty and I have caught a glimpse of her walking in the park but most always she has her head down, looking at her phone.

She appears to be just a tad younger than me, probably in her late twenties or at most early thirties. She's trim, seems fit in shorts and a tee, and wears her shoulder -length hair in a ponytail.

Yesterday morning, Sunday, I walked by her jeep, and what I saw made me stop. She was hunched over her phone, as usual, rock still. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her window was up, so I tapped on it gently. She jumped, startled, and looked at me through wet eyes. I stepped back a proper six feet as I wasn't wearing a mask and said, "Are you okay?"

She rolled down the window and wiped her face with her forearm. "Sorry," she said, sniffing, "I'm okay ... thank you. I'm fine, really. Thanks." As she wiped more tears away, I could see a small gold band on her left hand.

She didn't look "okay" to me. She was seriously unhappy. But what do you say to a stranger in tears? I managed to say, "Okay, if you're sure." In my head, my mind was screaming that I needed to try to help, say something, do something. She just looked at me, brilliant blue eyes and dark hair, seemingly at a loss for words.

I found myself babbling, "Hey, look, I walk in the park most days and I see you here too, so if you'd like to walk together sometime... ?" my voice trailed off. I saw surprise register on her face, like maybe, WTF?

"Oh, sorry," I fumbled, "I've just seen you in your jeep, you know, as I walk by  and..." I think I added something else equally lame.

"Yeah, I've seen you too." She waved her hand a little, a weak smile -- since shaking hands is no longer an option -- and said, "I'm Sally."

"I'm Sparks."

"Sure, I'd like to walk sometime," she said.

"Great!"

Then came the awkward silence that these kinds of moments bring forth.

"Okay, another time. See you," I said and walked to the trailhead. I didn't turn back to look, but I'm certain her eyes followed me until I was out of sight. Don't ask me how I know, but I do.

The jeep wasn't at the park today. I'm going tomorrow to see if Sally wants to walk together.