It's bigger than it should be. No one who has come to visit me there has failed to notice how honking big my office is. I stink at estimating distance, but I'd bet it's 30' by 30'. There are five windows that are probably fifteen feet tall by four feet wide: three on one wall, two on the other. In the afternoon the sunlight streams through the two side windows, making my basement office bright. The walls are white, though I've done my best to cover them. One wall has two bookcases and two filing cabinets on it, the other has all of the pictures and certificates that used to cover the walls of my more moderately sized office in Millhiser Gym. I've got two desks: one is the "main" desk, with drawers. It's suitable for meetings, with two wooden chairs with pale blue leather seats. The other desk is my computer station. Other than that, there's just a Cargo-style reading chair, which I've tossed a throw over, and my coat rack. I think I like the coat rack most of all: it's old and tips easily, and it stands almost hidden in the corner of the room. I guess I like it because it's old-fashioned and because it doesn't stand out against the wide open spaces like everything else does.

Turning off my light and closing my door, I move quickly down the hallway. Some of the folks from the Development Office are still working (Mary works late almost every night), but the gang in Accounts Payable have all gone for the day. I peek in on Natolyn, who's in conversation with Lynn. Since I've moved to Maryland Hall I've stopped by their offices more than probably anybody else's. Since they're busy I wish them a quick good night. Natolyn says she'll see me on the bridge.

Stepping outside of Maryland Hall, I take off my glasses. I can see well enough for the trip home and it's nice to be unfocused for a little while. Crossing the parking lot I turn on my Walkman and put on the headphones. Jean's been listening to country, but it only takes me a second to switch to NPR's All Things Considered. I like to stick to the roads on campus, even though the one I take on the way home goes back around the steam plant where few people seem to walk. There aren't any sidewalks along this part of my journey, so I usually walk in the road. Always on the side where I'm facing traffic. That's something Jean insists on. I know it's the right thing to do, but it's Jean's stubborn attitude on the matter that I remember the most. I climb the hill by the Quonset Hut and turn the corner. There's a little ravine to the left of the sidewalk that began at the corner. I pass by a parking lot and the intramural fields, where the students seem to be forever playing some sport or another.

I notice right about here that I'm avoiding people. A student walks by and I keep my eyes on the sidewalk, listening to the NPR news. I don't even make eye contact. Walking home is private time for me, time to think about whatever I want to think about, and I tend to become more introverted as I go along. I reach the corner of the intramural fields, now obscured by trees, and turn left. As I walk down the road towards the River Road entrance to the University, Mary drives by in her red antique Ford and waves. This I actually notice, and I wave back to her. One last turn and I'm down to River Road.

There are no sidewalks here either, and I walk in between the curb of the road and a gutter about three feet deep. Brown pine needles have been washed into the grass here. I look up and see there's just one more car coming in my direction. After it passes, I make a diagonal cross to the island that splits the traffic. Just a little further and I cross the other lane. The River Road Shopping Center has about ten upscale stores. Most of them have their doors open today. I suppose the heat caught them unawares. As I walk past Frances Kahn, a women's clothing store, I get a whiff that reminds me of old ladies' purses from when I was younger. I check myself for such a weird association, but move on.

River Road Shopping Center is sort of a peninsula. By walking on the sidewalk in front of the stores, I make the shortest path across. Once I cross the parking lot I'm walking on the wrong side of the road down River Road towards the Huguenot Bridge. After a short distance, I get onto the sidewalk – which is the only reason I walk on this side of the street.

The bridge is at least a quarter of a mile in length. The rails on the side are painted gray, but the paint has chipped all along the length of the bridge. There's some kind of red paint beneath the gray, but more than anything I can see rust. There are spider nests everywhere in the railing. The bridge crosses over some train tracks and some woods before coming to a clearing where the homes that line this side of the river are built. The sun is low but still yellow, shining brightly off to my right. The river is much fuller than when I last walked home in December. The water is brown and I can see some kind of film on patches of the river.

At one point while crossing the bridge I see a van that looks like Natolyn's, but I'm not sure. There are so many green minivans in the world. Too many. But that's another story.

Once I've crossed the bridge, I take the exit ramp that leads around and beneath the bridge. Walking parallel to the river, but too far away through the woods to see it, I once again walk facing traffic. Jean would be proud. And in fact I see Jean coming towards me in the distance. Before Colette was born Jean used to meet me in the middle of the bridge, at sunset if we could manage it. With a stroller, and still recovering from the birth, Jean is taking it easier. As we get close to each other, I turn off my Walkman and say hello.

Colette is being an angel in the stroller, just staring up at the two of us. I take the stroller from Jean (it's my turn), and we start for the house. We stop at the point where we turn away from the river. The James River is about a hundred yards away here and can be seen. At Jean's suggestion, I pull Colette out of the stroller and hold her facing the river. It's her first look, not that she's processing any of it.

We put Colette back in the stroller and turn up into the neighborhood. There are some very nice, very big houses in this part of the neighborhood, and it's a pleasant walk. Older trees flourish in this area, and their branches are almost thick enough to block the sky even though the leaves haven't yet arrived. We cross Cherokee Road, a twisty road with more traffic than it should have, and after a little way on our street, reach our house and go inside.


Want to see where I walked? Take a look! My walk goes north to south on the image you'll see.