Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Driving along the other evening, we observed a young fellow walking. Walking is all well and good but this particular walker was striding in the middle of the street. The headphones plugging his ears were further cause for concern, and I said as much to Spouse before the two elements were diluted by a third, which I first took to be an optical illusion.
"He isn't," I said as we drew closer. "He can't be."
"He is," Spouse confirmed. "He is. He's walking backwards."
Nor was it a matter of two steps, as one might do, in the most extreme case, to get a better look at something in the distance- the fellow was stepping along as though not a thing were out of place, in a nonchalant attempt to get to his destination.
With that spectacle mercifully behind us, I gesticulated wildly, intending to utter a remark to Spouse regarding the folly of human beings- but not a sound came out. Rarely have I been so flabbergasted.
Words are lovely little things. When adequate, they can frame a picture perfectly, but on occasion they are known to be stubborn and reclusive and refuse to do justice to an account for the benefit of those who were not present. In the case of the young man walking backwards in the middle of the street while wearing headphones, my words might falter but my memory never will.
Posted by Phyllis Hunt McGowan at 2:27 PM