There’s only one thing on my mind - the fact this fanny pack isn’t fitting around my waist the same way it had yesterday. Today, it’s nauseatingly tight and that’s all I can think about. The way it hugs the gap between my sweater and shorts, but I don’t loosen it. If I do, the camera and phone it protects will bounce when I begin my run.
So I start. Headphones in both ears, I unzip the outer pocket and take out the camera. The first picture: a radio tower. It’s bright and I can barely hear the red light it emits. I slow my pace to a standstill and freeze my arms waiting for the camera to focus. I feel the mosquitos playing with my hair and tickling my legs, and I’m grateful for the bug spray I had roused previously. The first photo. Two miles away a girl and a boy saw that same light. It was their last evening together and only they knew why. It was cold and dark and he brought her closer to his seated chest. Her mind was wandering, telling him about the future life she predicted he would have. One that didn’t include her. He would have a house where that red light was, a swimmer son named Jeffrey and two outdoor dogs. He listened to her drone on and only interrupted to tell her the light wasn’t on the ground. It was from a radio tower. She listened briefly, smitten from how he seemed to know every secret of the world. Then she shut up and together they watched it blink on. A forever they would never have. I shove the camera back into the bag, swing it around my waist so the pouch is against my back and I pick up the pace. I pull out one earbud, introducing a cacophony or Alesia Cara in one ear and the abandoned coast in the other. The sun still relents against the waves bringing shards of light on the fire hazed distance. I feel the heat burning against my legs and wonder why I didn’t bother putting sunscreen on my legs. It never even crossed my mind. Would my legs grow old and wrinkly from the sun damage? I stop again at a tunnel. 15 ft long and outlined by sheets of metal. I wait for a couple to pass before taking a photo, lest they think I’m photographing them. As they pass I play the mental game: tourist or local. I have no clue. This tunnel, marker 0.5 mile on the coastal trail, is where a little girl tried to run away. She crossed the street to this park and ran to the shelter of this tunnel. It was a very public tunnel, and everyone who walked this trail passed her by, but she didn’t worry about getting caught. It was an escape from a collapsing family. As the tunnel became history I heard why she never stayed. It was too loud and it scared her. The train running above the tunnel rattled the metal and echoed around, narrowing into her crying body. She was home before dinner. I’m done coming up with stories, and I return to the life around me. The trees have opened to a clearing and I decide to climb down to the coast. I trip on the grass and catch myself on the rocks below, nearly scratching the camera roped to my wrist. The bugs bother me, the ones that can’t sit still on the muddy waves. I step off the rocks and instantly regret it. I ground myself before pulling my sunken shoe out of the suctioning mud and retreat. I’m running, but I still haven’t sweat. Every time I take a step I feel the strap pulling against my belly button. It’s hot and still as nauseating, but I don’t stop. Maybe this way the food will come up and I won’t have to worry about the excess calories anymore. So then the final thing I see, before hitting the three mile mark and deciding to call the run quits. On one side the ocean, but the other side homes. Houses with backyards and two sides of fences, because for some reason it was more worth to build each fence to separate our one neighbor, and leave the back end open to the infinite public who viewed their home like another attraction on the hike. Within the two walls were another four. Much taller, there was a basketball court inside the backyard that seemed to nearly fill the yard itself. It looked funny and I imagined a young boy sitting inside it, people watching the tourists run by. Did the fence make him feel safe? No more daydreams. My legs are getting sunburnt and my stomach still nauseous. My camera goes back into the fanny pack and I check the time. Oh shit. It’s 10 PM. Welcome to Alaska.
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June 2020
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