Drift
A breeze passes through, gently grazing across the surface of the water. A rustle of the greenery, as they sway in the sun, letting loose a trail of summer snow effortlessly dancing in the wind.
She sits there on the bench next to the river and the rocks, watching, listening, like a camera, with nothing in mind. Simply watching. On the other side a man throws a stick in to the water, and his big looming dog slumps through to drag it back along with its heavy wet fur. In front of her, a couple of ducks float by a meter apart. The one in the front bobbing its head with every push forward. The one in the back motionless in thought before snapping out and catching up with its kin. Beyond the trees there are sounds of bicycles passing, motorized scooters ringing their bells. The sun slowly travelling across the sky.
Walking along the path on the island, she takes her steps at a deliberately dull pace. One. Two. Three. Four. It follows the rhythm of a lo-fi hip-hop playlist. Head up. Back straight. Placing one foot in front of the other without any destination in mind. A dedicated jogger passes by, sweat on her forehead, breathing out with lips pursed like a fish. A few lengths behind her a trio of joggers moving at half the pace, one lagging behind the other two. There technique isn’t there, but their effort is obvious. Off in the distance, next to the empty playground a young couple sits side-by-side on top of a picnic table. The only one that’s occupied.
She reaches the steps next to the water where the geese usually congregate along with all of the suburban tourists that flock to the downtown core on the long weekends. It’s empty today. There is a women sitting at the bench just on the side speaking some kind of Middle Eastern language on the phone. A family is sitting under the bridge’s shadow seeking reprieve from the heat. She feels the warmth on her skin, almost hot enough to burn. It gives her a pleasant distraction being on the edge of pain.
She stares into the shimmering blue hue of the glass towers of the downtown empire. A glimmer of light, a flare. She wonders if she will ever enter any of these buildings or if they will forever remain a passing scenery.
The market square is desolate. She wanders inside what used to be the highlight of downtown, the saving grace of local goods. It was a place filled with fresh produce, unique boutique shops, and the only theatre worth going to in the city core. Now it feels barely alive, gasping for air. The wide open concrete floor feels dull, cold. All the bodies inside can be counted in a glance. She leaves.
Continuing on her trail back, the newly constructed path next to the flood gates cleverly disguised as modern wooden seating. A young women is settled in part way through. Sitting quietly, headphones on, a book in hand, a bag full of snacks. Every hundred steps another childless adult walking their dog. A family or two on their weekend journey from the suburbs to experience the wonders of the island park. Another cliche selfie by the river. Something to fill their social media with the facade of culture. Phones out at the twenty-five million dollar bridge standing in the middle of the bike lane for that same shot every visitor takes. The usual busker with the scruffy grey beard performing for no one.
She hits the button at the crosswalk, makes her way back to her apartment a block away. Jacket hung, lights on, as she settles down in front of her computer for another night.
