The Big Walk

Published April 1, 2008

By Alex Townsend

Writing. Yes, writing was where it all began. I needed humor in a bad way, but my stash was empty. What a time, huh? With a deadline breathing down my neck like so many steamy, after-hours dentists, there was no helping it. I needed to go on a walk. Maybe a funny movie would do the trick. The Marx Brothers might just have the moxie I needed and the library might just have the Marx Brothers.

It was the kind of quest that needed a hat to show its importance, like the kind Indiana Jones would wear. No luck though, fedora stash also down and out. My Sherlock cap would have to do. I popped on my ipod and slunk the first steps out the door.

With the soundtrack to Avenue Q pounding in my ears I made my way through the bitter night. I was half-way across the Redstone campus before I realized that my noggin was bare. I almost gave up right then and there. What good was my mission now? It was a hat-less one. Now no one would have a reason to stare at me. It made me question a lot of things, like the point of the previous paragraph. The puppets in my ears taunted me about schadenfreude. I’d show them though. I reached into my pocket and switched my songs to shuffle.

The B-52’s came on. Good, now I could concentrate. I knew that forgetting a hat was nothing to be sneezed at, but it was also plain that the head-gear problems of one person didn’t amount to a hill of beans in this world, not when there were folks out there counting on something funny to read. I started walking again.

I made it to the student center, a joint as tough as any but not for me to tangle with tonight. I had enough dark, slippery things to deal with. Geez, why couldn’t they salt down these sidewalks better? One slight limp and a switch to Abba music later, I was at the steps that would take me the final stretch to my temple.

I made my way down slowly, only doing an occasional skip and keeping a steady eye out for the lowlifes you might see hanging around a library this time of night. It’s not a pretty truth, but books bring out the worst in people (fanfiction mostly). Still, I made it in without trouble. I didn’t want to push my luck though; I bounded down to the media center before I could be noticed.

Do you know that Charlie Brown song about all the things that happiness is? (I do, it was playing on my ipod.) Well, now I know what sadness is. It’s a pulled-down sheet of metal with a ‘closed’ sign on it. Bitter, broken, and a bit annoyed that it hadn’t suddenly started raining, I stumbled back into the night.

Where would literate college students find their humor now? The Cynic? No, I’d failed. There was no two ways about it. I looked down and saw a splotch that looked like a jellyfish. Ain’t that just as perfect as an omelet in November? I pressed play and started walking again.

These aren’t the days I like to call home to the folks about. The days when you remember that life can’t always break into a show-stopping number and a bunch of clever puns. The days where you see men in togas and try not to laugh at the polo fleeces they have pulled over them. I mounted up the stairs of my dorm, trying to find one last thought before I was back where I’d started. I clicked and I clicked, but all I found was another question as I went back through my door. Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego? Hmm, I wonder. This might be a cause for…a walk.

I put my hat on.

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