Walking in Memphis

We started walking down Chelsea Avenue. Memphis was in the middle of a heatwave, and the outdoor temperature was ninety-five degrees. I was heading in the general direction of Walter's mother's house and wanted to get there as soon as possible so I could get my truck out of her driveway in case it got parked in. John asked where I was going, and I told him. He asked me how long it would take to get to her house, and I told him it was four miles, and if we walked briskly, we could get there in about an hour, in plenty of time for me to take him to the airport. I grabbed John's suitcase and wheeled it behind me so he would be less tired. After a few blocks, John said, "I don't know about this. I think I should call a taxi." John didn't have his phone with him and I only had a simple flip phone, but down the street I spotted a firehouse, and we headed there.

Inside the firehouse, the firefighters gave us curious looks. We asked if we could use their phone to call a taxi. Their chief asked us why we couldn't make the call on our own phones and we explained that we didn't have a smartphone. He reluctantly acquiesced and pointed us to the phone. He showed us a sheet of phone numbers for taxi companies, and John started dialing. I told him that I wanted to get back to my truck as soon as possible, so we said goodbye and I took off down Chelsea alone.

I had four miles to walk and the sun was hot. For a while, I held the printed funeral program over my head to protect it from sunburn, but my hand became tired. I took off my long sleeve button-up shirt and tied it over my head like a bandanna. I was wearing a t-shirt underneath, so I still felt presentable. I continued walking down Chelsea in a t-shirt, khakis, and dress shoes. A passerby asked me if I was all right and if needed to use a cellphone. I thanked him and told him I already had one. Further down Chelsea, a car with flashing lights came from behind, did a u-turn in front of me, and pulled up beside me. It was a representative of the funeral home. He asked me if I could come back to the church with him. Walter's mother was asking about me, and it was time to go to the graveside ceremony. I told him succinctly, "I'm not going back!" I continued walking. He had a confused look on his face, but he drove back toward the church.

I checked the time and realized that I wasn't going to make it back to where my truck was parked within an hour. I may have been walking more slowly than I had planned, or I may have misjudged the distance, but it seemed like more than four miles. At some point, I had to turn south, and there were several streets I could choose in order to do so. I chose the first one and was glad I did, because it took me through the Vollintine Historical District, which had many beautiful old homes, and more importantly, had shade trees to shelter me from the hot sun. I saw people in their yards watering their lawns with hoses. I was thirsty but didn't stop and ask for water. I started to panic about whether I would get to my truck before it was parked or blocked in. I didn't want to talk to anyone from the funeral, especially Walter's family. I got down to Jackson Avenue and turned toward Hollywood Street, which would take me close to Walter's mother's house. After I turned down Hollywood, a car filled with people drove up beside me and the driver asked me if I was registered to vote. I said, "Yes, in Illinois. I'm a registered Democrat, and I'm going to vote a straight Democratic ticket." He smiled and shook my hand through the window. I thanked them sincerely for what they were doing. We said our goodbyes and I continued down the street. I was tired, and this was the longest conversation I had during my walk, but I was happy to see enthusiastic young people out registering people to vote, and I had found some humanity in what was beginning to seem like a hostile town.

I took a back side street to get to the house because I didn't want to be spotted. When I turned the corner and saw the truck parked in the driveway, I breathed a sigh of relief. The truck was not blocked in, and the neighborhood was quiet. Walter's family had not returned from the funeral. I hopped in the truck, turned the ignition, and took off toward the motel.