The Walker

Black, homeless and quietly he walked. Let us call him Harold.

He walked all day and I wondered how that could be possible. But the truth is, he did! He was in supreme physical condition; tall, slim and shirtless with a flat stomach. He walked at a slow and even pace. People stopped their cars to offer him money which he politely took from the passing driver, then he quickly turned and walked on, almost as if he had to get back to his job. He particularly liked walking on the island that I lived where there were bridges and waterways. Sometimes I would see him on the sidewalk of a busy highway. It has been years now that I have followed Harold, intrigued by this homeless man. The Florida heat does not seem to bother him; perhaps he was brought up on one of the tropical islands and enjoys the warmth. He is in better shape than most young men and a stand out amongst homeless men. He might be handsome if he was cleansed and dressed appropriately. He might be anybody's son, husband or lover. Could he be my Pygmalion? What does your new boyfriend do? “Well, he walks.” From experience I know there is nothing more wonderful than walking, letting thoughts come and go while the body becomes invigorated. When I was in my late forties, my boyfriend at the time invited me out for a walk. I kind of laughed, thinking it was a strange kind of date. But Paul, on this wonderfully romantic date held me close as we walked embraced through the small and interesting streets of Key West, Florida. There were many walks to follow all with wonderful memories. Paul gave me a life time gift of walking for pleasure and exercise. I remember telling my girlfriend and she laughed at me. “walking, he took you walking, so what is that,” She did not understand that it was bigger than any gift he could have given to me.

Where did Harold go at night? Where did he sleep? Had he found a special place for himself? Had he made friends with neighbors who invited him to sleep on their property? Did he have any other possessions other than the pants and shoes he wore or the shirt tied around his waist? What was his real name? Did he ever go to school? Did he have a high IQ? Where was he from? This lonely walker with a stench, and I knew he had one, as I was one of the people who gave him money, fascinates me. I need to approach him. I need to find out who he is. I need to find out what has compelled him to live a life of walking. I need to know him and write about him. I need the world to meet him so that we can know his story.