January 5, 2021: The Ghosts of Beverly Drive
Song: “The Ghosts of Beverly Drive” by Death Cab for Cutie from Kintsugi
(Pinterest.com, Night walk by estherep)
Chris turned the corner onto Beverly, tucking their face deeper behind their scarf.
The temperature was registering a cold but not overwhelming so 33 Fahrenheit, but the wind was coming up quick and angry before fading, lashing bitterly against any exposed flesh. Chris tried to ignore the momentary chatter of their teeth, the stinging tears leaking from their eyes. They had walked 7000 steps 12 days in a row. The app would make a ding and flash confetti on the screen for 13 and Chris had never, not once, gotten to 13 days in a row. All they had to do was go 1000 more steps and the goal would be achieved. The ding would be heard. The digital confetti virtually released. So sharp blasts of artic wind be damned. They would have their ding. They would see their 1s and 0s confetti.
In the distance, where Beverly met Concord, Chris spotted someone else braving the cold. They wondered how many days in a row this fellow member of the fraternity of walkers had on their app. “Probably like 32,” Chris whispered, voice heavy with jealousy. There was no evidence of this, of course, Chris just constantly assumed everyone else’s level of commitment and ability to time manage exceeded their own. Chris briefly wondered if they ever reached 32 days what the app would do. “I bet the confetti is a different color,” they concluded aloud, before helpfully reminding themselves, “Outside, all alone. Thinking out loud at 10:30 at night, not a great look.”
Over their self-loathing, Chris began to perceive something strange about the distant traveler. Beverly, while empty at night, bustled from sun up to sun down and so the town had widened the road to four lanes, 2 going east, 2 going west, in the early 70’s. An unusually large road for the suburbs, to be sure. Even so though, the other walker seemed to be taking a substantially longer than to be expected time to cross it. And seemingly without any particular impediment. The walker did not appear to be talking on a phone or distracted with insta or tiktok or whatever other app, one of the many that Chris told themselves they’d download the moment they hit 10 pounds less and ABSOLUTELY FILL with thirst traps. The walker also didn’t seem to be stopping to tie shoelaces or struggling with a limp or experiencing any other noticeable physical reason for being so slow. And yet, this person, united in walking in silly cold temps, seemed to be barely moving.
There was something else too. The clothes…all wrong for silly cold. Chris couldn’t be sure yet but the person seemed to be wearing a dress, a bouncy spring number, without coat or hat or scarf or mittens or sweatpants or series of well insulate poncho. Walking that slow and dressed for May? Chris suddenly became concerned they were witnessing someone dying of hypothermia. It made no sense, but neither did wearing that dress well past 10 pm in February for a walk. Maybe if the walker was a college student rushing between parties favoring cute over practical. Chris could remember those days. But Beverly sat a full 35 minutes away from a college campus and was not in a neighborhood where must students could afford, or would bother even if they could, renting an apartment. Plus, even college students weren’t that into partying on a Monday.
Now mostly convinced with their own hypothermia theory, Chris prepared to do the unpleasant and ugly run their way to the spring dress model. Then it happened. It was just a moment, but Chris caught it. The other walker…blinked. Like, disappeared and then reappeared a moment later. And just when Chris was sure that wasn’t what they saw, the figure did it again. Chris began to feel as though the no longer so distant person was…almost blurry? Indistinct. Not just thin but somehow barely there?
Instead of running, Chris slowed. Unease settled in. The wind was gone now, but their teeth chattered harder and longer. Fight or flight pulled the levers of Chris’s adrenal system hard. They debated turning around but the figure seemed to be walking at a good clip now and before long, finished crossing Beverly and continued out of sight down Concord. While Chris couldn’t shake the sense of a sort of existential discomfort, they laughed at themselves. Rejected their gut flips as childishness, as ridiculous unfounded worry. And in that way, they convinced themselves to go forward, to cross Concord to the other side of Beverly, and continue on to 13 days in a row and dinging confetti-d glory.
Reaching the intersection, Chris, happily, let the tension dissipate from them. No one was waiting, no figure distant or otherwise to be seen. Evidently, the person had just been a dressed poorly for the weather dope. Chris shook their head. “What an imagination I have,” they mocked themselves.
The mocking died in their throat when a high voice intruded.
“Excuse me?” it almost gasped, “Excuse me, what are you doing here?”
Chris glanced around. No one. But the voice, undeniably clear and close. Chris did a second round and saw her. The figure. The spring dress wearing slowpoke.
“I…” they began but could not manage more as the figure turned and began to move, fast, towards them.
“What are you doing here WHERE I DIED?!” the figure demanded, screeching now, hands reaching out, grabbing Chris.
Chris found their voice then, screaming in reply. Clamping their eyes shut. Crumpling to the ground.
Laughter came next. Light but cruel. Chris slowly opened their eyes. “Oh,” they thought, ashamed, “A prank. College kids after all. Screwing with the square queers of the suburbs.”
But no one was there. The street was empty. Utterly. The laughter continued 1, 2, 3 beats more but there was not a person there to lay claim to it. Shakily, Chris stood. Looked around, peering into yards and windows. But they truly seemed alone. Impossibly so given what just happened but alone nonetheless.
Unsteadily, Chris got their legs fully underneath them and begin to walk.
DING!
“FUCK!” they gasped. Then, a realization. That ding meant 7000 steps. Meant 13 days.
Chris chuckled. Heart racing, thoughts a mess. But hey, goal achieved.
“Congratulations!” a voice praised.
“Thanks,” Chris replied. Then they remembered there was no else here. A bouncing spring dress peeked into their peripheral. Then real true undeniable breeze-less cold set in.