this is obviously not a diary entry: Mar. 07, 2004 (4:45 pm)

Small Favors

The only thing worse than walking in the cold is driving during the winter watching pedestrians freezing. For the first time in weeks the temperature rose above 40 degrees. On the drive home, I rolled down the windows and remembered the appeal of a car. The way favorite songs from favorite tapes sound better when listened to driving across favorite bridges. The way you can be hungry for a cup of miso soup and go get it then. And after ten minutes I parked, rolled the windows back up and walked up to my bedroom to sit on my bed.

I grew up in a city full of neighborhoods, each distinct and defined by bus routes and metro stops. Now I drive above the roads I rode below when I was younger. My dad can ask me to get that fair-trade coffee he started drinking and I can find the keys and get in the car and go. I always drive up 13th Street, even though it's a little bit slower than Military Road, because there is always something new to see on that narrow street lined with small houses filled with people who take Christmas decorations and exterior paint jobs seriously. In minutes, I watch Cardoza turn into Mount Pleasant turn into Petworth turn into Takoma. I turn onto route 410 right before 13th street turns into Silver Spring. I buy a package of coffee and then I head back, watching the neighborhoods blur back into each other. It's very convenient, which is nice for a serious coffee drinker.

Whenever I drive near a bicyclist in Takoma, I'm afraid I'm going to hit him. And that he's actually David, who came home as a surprise but hasn't had a chance to call because his mom needs him to pick groceries up from the co-op. As usual. Once, David asked me to come over and bike around the neighborhood. I reminded him that it wasn't my neighborhood. Bringing a bike on the metro was too much of a burden for me, so whenever I came over we just walked around his neighborhood. Up 410 and back down 410. Up empty handed and back down struggling with grocery bags.

The first time we went together, we found a pair of dress shoes in a patch of grass between the sidewalk and the street. I pointed them out and walked past them but David yelled, "hold on." I looked back at him, one shoe off, sitting on the sidewalk lacing up a black, dirty leather shoe.

"If they're still here on our way back, I'll take them."

We continued towards the co-op, telling jokes and making short-term plans. Once we got there, David pulled out his mom's shopping list. We looked for items like a scavenger hunt. We became excited every time we put a new item in our basket. 21 containers of soy yogurt. 3 packages of toaster waffles. She even put items on the list that didn't exist in this natural food store, like unscented lotion and band-aids.

In the refrigerator section, David placed the basket on the floor and dropped a package of tofu into it. We watched the package break a little.

"Hey, David, did you mean to get soft tofu?"

He shook his head and put it back.

"But it's broken."

"I know. Not that much, though."

We looked at each other and smiled and laughed at our secret.

At the checkout counter, David put the groceries into bags while I paid with the money his mom had given him. The cashier asked how we would pay for "our groceries". I was about to explain that they weren't mine, that I was just tagging along to spend the afternoon with a friend but it seemed unnecessary so I said, "with cash" and felt adult imagining buying groceries for ourselves.

David over packed bags, but I guess you have to if you don't have a car to carry them. We spent half the walk adjusting our arms comfortably around the bags and then even when we found the perfect position we still walked slowly and carefully, unable to see our feet.

Passing by the shoes, I asked, "still there?"

"Yes, but I decided I don't like them."

Back in his home, we unpacked the bags, cooked dinner and sat around with his mom for a few hours talking about the news and school and my plans for the future. I left late in the evening and he thanked me for helping.

I returned home empty handed but smiling. My mother never understood those days. She never understood that day long trips slowly traveling across the city, grocery shopping, eating dinner, traveling back across the city were enough for me. There was nothing more to want and nothing else to expect and at that time I couldn't even imagine a trip to Takoma that wasn't a day long excursion. But now I get angry stuck in the traffic on 410, and look out the window searching for old friends.

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