REAPPEAR

REAPPEAR- Chapter 1

I watched her walk up the street toward the bus stop as she looked back and smiled. I waved and smiled with a closed mouth. Norla was deeply and truly beautiful in every way. I was fortunate to have her, and I told her that often. She had a sweet voice with exuberant affect uniquely her own. She had amazing spirit and such great, inimitable soul. She was a wonderful person, extremely caring, perhaps to her own detriment. As she turned the corner onto Poplar Street, when I could no longer see her, I became somewhat sentimental as I sometimes would when she'd leave, thinking of how I would no longer be able to enjoy her company, how I'd miss her, even if it were only for a few hours.

Norla worked as a social worker on the cardiac rehabilitation unit at HUP, Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania, and had recently begun working part-time as a therapist at the University of Pennsylvania's Counseling and Psychological Services. We met in January six years earlier while working together at an elementary school. I was in my first year as a teacher with the School District of Philadelphia and she was completing an internship as part of her graduate school program at Penn. She led conflict resolution groups, and provided grief counseling for many of the students I worked with. A few months after meeting, we began dating. Less than two years later we moved in together. Three years after that we were married under the sun in a garden ceremony in Philadelphia.

The most recent school year had just concluded, and I was finished teaching, off for the summer. I walked back inside after seeing Norla off, had a sip of water from a pint glass, laced up my sneakers, and headed out for a run.

Out our front door, immediate left, and then another left onto Poplar Street. Take Poplar Street several blocks to Poplar Drive and turn right. Our neighborhood was terrific, a nice combination of established and up-and-coming, right on the cusp of Fairmount and Brewerytown. We lived just a few miles from Center City, and only a few hundred feet from Fairmount Park, nearly ten thousand acres of green space covering about ten percent of the land in Philadelphia. We spent many afternoons and evenings in the park having picnics with friends or family, relaxing, reading, drinking, thinking, biking, walking, running, fishing, and hiking. I left much of the city behind as I crossed over Girard Avenue and ran north up 33rd Street.

"Put a shirt on dickhead!" Said a teenage girl on the crosswalk in front of me.

"Nice skirt bitch!" Said another, referring to my high, black and gray running shorts. "Put some motherfuckin clothes on!" They laughed.

I continued on what was one of my normal running routes, thinking about Norla, planning my day, generally daydreaming, and occasionally thinking of those girls. I passed the defunct John Coltrane house, identified with a small blue and yellow sign on the sidewalk out front, Coltrane lived there at some point in his life. It appeared someone was working on refurbishing and re-launching the site as a museum. There had been a lot of development in the neighborhood, most of which was economically and socially beneficial, and a museum honoring a jazz great would be a solid addition. I had several neighborhood-specific development and business ideas of my own in mind that often came to me while running.

I crossed over 33rd Street, turned left actually entering the park proper, and passed a driving range for golfers. Less than a quarter mile down the road was a disc golf course, a free course for Frisbee golf enthusiasts, which was regularly packed from open 'til close and always emitting a distinct smell of pot and grill smoke. The place was really well kept and from what I could gather, informally and unofficially run by its regulars.

I ran further into the park, the city had vanished, as I was surrounded by trees on both sides, immersed in immense serenity and wooded magnificence. I looped around empty soccer fields, softball fields, baseball fields, little side parks with picnic tables, and eventually cruised down Fountain Green Drive toward Kelly Drive where I'd finish the last half of the three mile loop.

I picked up my pace slightly and ran down hill, a small creek to my left and rocky, woodsy terrain to my right, both sloping at thirty degree angles. An ornate, aging railroad bridge connected one hilly side with another in front of me. Suddenly, the strong, unmistakable smell of death wafted, firmly implanting itself in my nostrils, and burrowing into my brain. I scanned the area and quickly identified its origin. In the gutter on the other side of the road were two tiny, mangled reddish orange foxes. They appeared to have been recently struck by a large vehicle, most likely an SUV, left to suffer and die atop one another. I crossed the street to take a better look and the stink intensified. The foxes, one with its head caved-in lying atop another with flattened hind legs, rested in a pool of bloody water in the gutter. I ran in place, taking a better look, and noticed the one on the bottom had its tongue dangling from its pointy mouth as if trying to get one last drink of water and perhaps preserve life before ultimately meeting death. A gross chill shot down my spine from the back of my head, through my bones, and into my knees as I sprinted toward Kelly Drive, crossed over, and turned left heading east. For the last half-mile or so, I increased my pace and my breathing escalated accordingly. Eager to get home, I finished the run strong, passing by everyone I encountered: a septuagenarian woman in a loose, yellow jumpsuit; an obese, curly gray and white haired, fifty-something man; a few twenty-something brunette women with matching running gear; and a couple dudes around my age with enormous calves and colorful back tattoos.

At Lloyd Hall, I crossed back over Kelly Drive and jogged home. Extremely psyched about my discovery, I skipped a shower, changed into blue jeans, black and white checkered sneakers, and an old, black T-shirt, put on my shades, left our house, got in my truck, and hurriedly drove back to the foxes.