Short Walk

I stepped out the door this morning, aimless as to where I was going. I thought it would be a good idea to receive what life had to offer without any concrete personal plans to follow.

Clad with the most casual outfit I could wear in a windy and cloudy day, my feet led me to the national highway where the parade of motor vehicles was underway. Being a Saturday, there were more of them leaving the city, when students coming from rural areas rode toward home, taking advantage of a long weekend.

I stood momentarily by the side of the road, trying to count how many transports passed by. This practice was based on a joke, usually advised to someone who had nothing worthwhile to do with his life. The sarcasm was embedded in the jest.

“Kumpare, where are you going?”

“Anywhere,” I replied without any specific destination in mind. I stared upon the long straight road as if absent-minded that someone talked to me. I kept walking.

New houses were under construction on the left side, meaning new neighbors staying for good. Another period of getting to know one another was in the making.

Motorcycle drivers were getting younger each day that passed. They seemed oblivious of the dangers of driving without protective gear, risking life and future as if they did not care less.

City lifestyle was coming to the rural setting: the new generation was switching to modernity. Yet, the old ones were not as easy to be deluded by the transformation, clinging to mastered ways of generations past.

Thirty minutes gone and the road seemed endless. The distance was uncounted nor it had to be. Free walk  never intended any obstruction from mental mathematics, only creative absorption of everything the eyes observed.

I heard a motorcycle decelerating behind me. Perhaps, someone had to make a stop and answer a phone call. Not my business to look back and check as I continued walking my pace.

“You’re going too far, man!” a familiar voice yelled. “Come on! Let’s go home!”

I stopped on my tracks, my legs feeling the exertion of the walk, my blood rejuvenated.

“You look like a zombie! What has gone to your head?” my kumpare grinned, no insult was intended.

“I was a zombie,” I concurred seriously. “Now, I am human.”

“You are so deep, man!” he patted me on the shoulder to jar my senses back to normalcy.

I laughed. For the first time, someone noticed who I really am.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” I said, heading to the parked motorcycle. “Do you want me to drive?”

“You’re back to yourself,” he admitted with a chuckle. “You do not know how to drive, remember?”

“There’s always a first time.” I reasoned out.

BLOGGING   LIFE/STYLES   MY STORIES   WHISPER   ZONE

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