never sure if I will get over that huge concrete island-like thing which one has to climb while waiting for the crosswalk to change to green. Yet, I successfully did, despite its steep incline, and continued to speed down the street. The snow drifts were rapidly melting, forming little shimmering puddles that trickled down into the dirty street gutters. I joyfully splashed through the little lakes on purpose, inspired by the excitement of the changing seasons, a spirited mood that renders one grateful, not minding a bit of wetness since the previously absent sunlight is finally here. Returning from the downtown bike trail, which took me on a pleasant tour of Wausau’s parks and rivers, I continued to wheel. Nearing my apartment building but not yet ready to end my expedition, I chose to wheel laps around the neighborhood where I go to mass. After I had rolled about five laps around beautiful St. Mary’s Oratory and was launching into my sixth lap, I was halted by a voice that came from behind me. The voice was kind of a lazy, slurring one. I greeted the speaker with a smile before grasping his visage. He had a face that was puffy, painted and pierced. He had tattoos—as far as I could see— from head to toe, kind of blotting out his face and neck, exhibiting skulls and crossbones, and barbed wire and other such disquieting things. His face was highly pierced. He had earrings in his nose, lip, eyebrow and I suppose his tongue too, the source of the slur. I politely greeted him by saying “Hi,” and he asked me if I knew the way to the Dollar Store in Rothschild, a few miles away. I responded I didn’t since I was a newcomer in Wausau and didn’t know any locations except the Wausau Shopko, and the Kwik Trip which was very close to me and the Oratory. With a bit of surprise in his stained face, he announced with no shame that he was new in town too, having just gotten out of his six-week jail stay because he had been stalking his girlfriend. Then he proceeded to tell me that he thought it was bizarre that they punished him for it (“It ain’t no crime just trailin’ someone around, is it?”) and frankly he could not understand the problem. I just raised my eyebrows and told him—mumbling to mask my incredulity—that I didn’t know either, but after that, I said to him that I had to get going. He agreed with me that it was a silly idea for them to put him in jail. He said “thanks” and his bloated bulk disappeared into the blinding and vibrant sunshine as I wheeled home for lunch. Not a week later I had another interesting encounter with a citizen from Wausau. The encounter was with what they used to call an old bag lady. She seemed quite mad. Like the last time, I had been wheeling laps around St. Mary’s Oratory Page 31
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