by Kenneth M. Kapp
There were torrential rains for several days. Flood warnings periodically flashed across the bottom of my PC when I was online. But eventually there was a break in the thunderstorm warnings and since I needed to clear my head – I was getting frustrated and could no longer think straight – I decided I’d better get out of the house. I checked the forecast, looked northwest out the kitchen window, grabbed my coat, and drove to a neighborhood park where I knew the paths kept to high ground.
It was a delightful park with ravines zigzagging through it on the way to culverts and a large lake three miles away. Some of the ravines were wide enough to accommodate narrow walking paths; wooden steps provided access and egress along the way. But not today, there were chains with signs across the top warning that conditions were unsafe.
But where the walking path was close to an overlook of a ravine, I would stop and peer through the trees and shrubbery searching for the meandering creek that now moved rapidly along with gravity. If one timed it right – midafternoon, a few days after a good rain – the bottom fold of the ravine would be green and dotted with wildflowers. They remained exotic since I didn’t search for their names on my smart phone, afraid to discover that they were common weeds. Wandering slowly along the broken trickle I could imagine being in a dense forest as in the Harry Potter films. Surprisingly, I even enjoyed fanning away bugs sparkling in the broken streams of sunlight that filtered through branches and bushes bordering the ridges of the ravine.
Ten years ago, my ex-wife would insist I exercise and drag me to walk in any park within five miles of our house. I still remembered most of the trails, particularly the ravines in this park. I even had my favorite spots for looking down into each of them on days like this when it was too wet to walk. There were a couple of places where the vantage points were not along the path but at the far end of a picnic area or along an irregular island of grass; one could see both up and down the ravine. If you could imagine being a miniature person or used a zoom setting on your camera, these could appear as oxbows of an unexplored river and where frogs croaking at night would turn into unknown predators – clearly, I had been inside for too long!
But the ground had been super-saturated, and every time I stepped off the macadam onto the grass it would make a squishing sound. I smiled and wondered if I tried a few dance steps if it would sing along.
A half hour into my walk, checking the sky periodically, I came to my second favorite spot. A young man coming towards me had already left the path and was heading towards the overlook. We arrived at the same time though I had twice the distance to go. I almost laughed; he obviously enjoyed the sounds he made as he lifted one leg after the other, turning his foot about and then slowly lowering heel-toe or toe-heel, laughing at the results.
He wasn’t shy, or perhaps lacked for friends, and assumed I was a kindred spirit as he skipped in place and extended his hand. “Everyone calls me ‘Squish.’” We shook and then he added, “Even when it’s not raining,” and laughed heartily at his own joke.
“I’m called Herbie, even in the middle of the winter when my coat is covered in snow.” He didn’t seem to understand my own joke about garden herbs being covered with snow in the winter.
We made small talk; it was that kind of day. Squish admitted to being called Crunch in the fall when dry leaves littered the ground. He marched in place, synchronizing the crunching sounds he made with his mouth while squishes escaped from under his sodden sneakers.
But it wasn’t Beethoven’s Fifth and I soon apologized for having to leave, saying I needed to go back to work.
Squish frowned. “Why? Work will always be waiting.”
I answered. “But there will be less of it if I do some now.”
He laughed and countered. “Really? Did you ever know that to be the case?”
I shrugged. “No.”
Squish spun around a couple of times pointing to his bottom. “But, but, but. See I knew you were going to say but. Everyone always does. That’s why I’d much rather go squishing when it rains. Bye.”
And without further ado he marched back to the path, his arms swinging in slow quarter-circles.
I took a couple of deep breaths. He had me there. Indeed, I was about to say so but with no idea of what words would follow. I felt a chill and rushed back to my car. The skies had darkened and I could almost taste the rain that cascaded down before I was even able to fasten my seat belt.
~ * ~
Spring gave way to summer, and summer was soon overtaken by fall. One hand would have sufficed to count the number of times I walked in any of the neighborhood parks since my meeting Squish. Work never lessened. It was only when temperatures remained in the teens for a week and the forecast called for three inches of snow that I took the time to retrieve my winter coat from the cedar closet at the end of the hall upstairs.
It’s funny how you recall the strangest things. When I rehung the coat in the front closet, I remembered meeting Squish six months before and how I joked about my coat being covered with snow. Yeh, work!
I squinched my face, a weak tribute to my forgotten friend, marched down the hall to my den, and closed my laptop. It was high time for a walk in the park!