Nowhere to Hide

It was Fall in Seattle. I gazed out my window, chugging down the last ounces of my coffee, breathing in and out, as I mentally prepared for my morning run. I walked out my door, shoes in hand, as is my morning routine. As I sat on my door sill, I beamed with pride. I had worked all summer on creating an oasis on this porch. My rocking chairs stained a dark Kona colored swayed ever so slightly in the wind. My hanging planters, pouring over with plants, were hard to get started but were now in full bloom. I took all this in, as I laced one shoe and then the other, popped my Air Pods in my ears, slowly stood and stretched. This warmup was important because I hated running but found that if I eased my mind and body in it became somewhat enjoyable. I trotted down the 3 short steps to my walkway before bouncing up and down warming my legs up and flailing my arms about. I wonder what the neighbors thought of my morning routine. Because I know they are watching. When you live in a neighborhood full of seniors and inquisitive children, you knew everyone was watching the single lady in the little yellow house. Especially Mr. Charles, who I wave at as I begin my journey to the right down my walkway. He edges his lawn every morning around the same time. And every morning I greet him with a quick wave and go about my run. I run half of mile down my street and turn right, where I run a full two miles before having to turn again. This two-mile stretch is my favorite. The streets are lined with trees that remind me of an ocean sunset. The colors of the leaves are perfect shades of crimson, buttery yellows and pumpkin. I run, taking deep breaths, inhaling the colors of Fall, getting lost in the beauty and the two miles is behind me in no time. I turn the corner run a little further and make a right for the hardest part of the run. Two miles, entirely uphill. I have to gather everything in me to make it. During this time, I make a mental check list of my day, mentally adding and scratching things off my to do list. Today is laundry day. I will go home, strip off my running clothes, throw them in the laundry. Ah! I need laundry detergent. As I recall my run on yesterday, throwing my clothes into the washing machine and reaching for an empty detergent container. I immediately add “go grocery shopping to the to do list”. These thoughts have distracted me as I climb the two miles and turn onto my street for the last quarter mile of my run. As I round the corner, I see Ms. Andrews out walking Mr. Andrews, her feisty and very cute yorkie. Yes, she named her dog Mr. Andrews. She vigorously waves me down, which is unusual. As I get closer to her, I pop one air pod out still jogging in place.

“Good morning Ms. Andrews.” I look down at my feet and say, “Mr. Andrews.” He looks up, and yelps, the cutest.

“Morning Claire sweetie. Someone just dropped a package off for you. I was walking Mr. Andrews and a car pulls up. A young man gets out. I assume he was young, but you know I can’t see that well.” I’m half listening, she’s still talking, and I realize this conversation won’t be as short as I thought, so I stop jogging and glance toward my house. And there it is. A brown paper package. Not too big but definitely noticeable from three houses away. I realize Ms. Andrews is still recounting the package delivery and I catch a detail of her story that gives me a slight jolt. “I’m sorry, did you say a man in a car dropped the package off?” Ms. Andrews still talking doesn’t hear my question. I think, “Did she say car?”

“Ms. Andrews!” I have to say her name a couple times, and slightly raise my voice, as her story is in full swing. At this point she’s telling me how she was able to see the entire delivery due to Mr. Andrews having stomach issues and runny stools and how she had to stop to clean him up. She finally hears me call her name and stops to gaze at me, as if she forgot I was there.

“Oh! Claire sweetie. I almost forgot you were standing here.” I knew it. “Ms. Andrews, did you say a car and not a delivery truck or the post man?”

“No definitely a car, it was a blue car. I found it odd because it wasn’t a delivery truck. Just a blue car. Not dark and not light blue. Like royal blue.” She continues to try to explain the exact shade of blue and my heart is pounding. Calm down Claire, it couldn’t have been them. But it could’ve been. It’s been years and we’ve had no contact. I made sure of it. Pull it together Claire. There are more people in the city of Seattle and with all these delivery apps, it could’ve been anyone or anything. I can feel myself beginning to panic. I jump as Ms. Andrews touches my shoulder.

“Claire sweetie. Mr. Andrews and I are going in, we are both tired from our walk. I hope there’s something wonderful in your package.” I try to gather a smile, that I know doesn’t make it to my eyes and tell Ms. Andrews thank you. I know that whatever is in this brown paper package is not wonderful, it is a signal. I know that after five years, the quiet life I have lived is over. I suddenly realize that because Ms. Andrews saw the delivery and Mr. Charles is still out edging his yard their lives will come to an end in a matter of days..... no loose strings. As I slowly walk toward my house, I take in the street. The beautiful homes occupied by older tenants and a few young families. A quiet street, that hosts community trick or treat events and where Christmas carolers still come to your door. A community that felt like home and I ruined it. No! they ruined it. I realize in my musing, I have walked away from Ms. Andrews and fussy Mr. Andrews, and have landed in front of the brown paper package. I look down and tears pool in my eyes out of anger. How did they find me? Why now? The pool of tears overflows and runs down my cheek as I bend over to pick up the package. As I lift it, I recognize the weight and all the questions I had were at once answered. I look at my Kona colored rocking chairs still swaying in the breeze. I admire my hanging plants, proud that after many failures they are finally thriving. I step backwards from my porch, package clutched angrily under my arm, and I gaze at my little yellow house. I turn around and see Ms. Andrews still coaxing Mr. Andrews into the house. And to the other side of me I hear Mr. Charles’ edger. For a brief moment I laugh internally at these two funny humans who I’ve grown to love. But as I feel the weight of the package, the tears flow again and I silently whisper “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I'm sorry”. I pop my air pod back in my ear and with the brown paper package under my arm, I begin another run, towards the unknown.