Bump

This morning the oddest thing: as I ran under the Longfellow Bridge heading west over the built out section of Memorial Drive that presents the impressive view of Back Bay and its two towers, another runner, a man perhaps in his forties, held out his fist to bump mine. I was surprised and responded late and awkwardly. He gave me a thumbs up, a smile and loped on ahead. He was faster than I so I saw his lead growing as we together went toward the Mass Ave bridge.

What were you thinking? Was it the perfection of the sweet air and the refulgent light and the fact of Friday that put you in an alls-well-with-the-world mood that led to this gesture of mutuality. Maybe you were amused by the clownishness of the boney old guy in yellow shorts, blue striped tank top and colored shoes. Had you passed me before and so knew me by sight?

I pass so many people, walkers alone and in pairs, cyclists, runners, more often coming the other way than not, most occupied with their thoughts or conversations and so not making eye contact. But what about this: a little bit further along and on the same day, a smile of acknowledgement flitted across the face of a young woman. Had my face been open enough so as to invite response? I remember myself thinking about revisions to a sentence in the post I had just published. Was friendliness in the air?

Even more, what about the person in a motorized wheelchair with whom I often cross paths as I run from Boston to Charlestown, he on his way to work in, I guess, a bank. I've been thinking about how to greet him as we pass but shy because our circumstances are so different. Well, also today, a quick look and the briefest smile for the first time ever. Was this just one of those days when the unexpected happens so often and so naturally that you begin to think that even improbabilities could become the rule.

I confess, I'm gratified. These contacts make me feel connected, but not contained. It does make me wonder, though, about what messages I broadcast as I run, ones I may not be aware of. What expressions do people see beneath sheen of sweat? Is there something in my glance? I'm interested in looking at everyone I meet; perhaps my pleasure in faces shows.

Well, it's not a serious matter because these encounters are few and infrequent. But you, fist-bump fella, had come up behind me. You introduced yourself to me as fellow runner on this glorious mid-summer morning on which it was so good to be alive and active. I send my greetings after your receding back, and to all others. Vaya con dios.