Word: Wayfarer

wayfarer

\ WEY-fair-er \  , noun;

1. a traveler, especially on foot.

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The man walked through the park aimlessly, drawing attention from everyone near him.  His clothes were ragged and dirty, as was everything else about him.  His hair was unkempt, and he sported a bushy, formless beard.  He hefted a small backpack that looked like it was about to burst from having a few items too many in it.  Quite understandably, most people moved around him, wanting to avoid contact as much as possible.  It was probably the smell that did it more than anything, as he clearly hadn’t showered in quite some time.  Alex, on the other hand, saw some possibilities in the guy.

               Alex followed the man around the park, keeping a discreet distance and jotting various notes in the small notepad he always carried around.  At first, Alex was very eager to do so, thinking that someone that looked like that must do something interesting.  After awhile though, it became clear that he wasn’t going to get much of anything just by following the man.  The guy wasn’t doing much of anything.  He was simply walking around ad looking at things.  Occasionally he would pick some random, small object off the ground and look at that.  Some he just dropped again, but others he put into his backpack.  Other than that, there wasn’t much to go off of.  Alex sighed.  He would have to actually talk with the man if he wanted anything of substance.

               Alex hurried to approach the man, doing his best to stay downwind to avoid the smell.  Once he caught up a bit more, he called out, trying to get the man’s attention.  It took a few tries, but eventually, the man stopped and turned.  He looked at Alex with an almost unreadable expression.

               “Something I can do for you?”  He asked.

               “Uh yeah, I’m a student in a creative writing program.  One of our ongoing assignments is to pick out an interesting person and write a story based on him or her.  I think you’d be good.  If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few things.” Alex said.  The man cocked his head a bit and remained silent for a few seconds.

               “Sure, why not?  I’m not too sure I’d make a good story, but what the hell.”

               Alex thanked the man profusely and led him to a nearby bench.  The man removed his pack and sat down, stretching out his legs.  Alex too the spot next to him and got ready to take notes.

               “So, first things first.  Basic info.  What’s your name and where do you come from?” Alex started.

               “Well, my name’s Fred Summers, and I’m from Chicago.  At least, that’s where I’ve been most of my life.”

               “That’s pretty far away.  How long did it take you to get here?” 

               “About a year and a half, I think.  It gets hard to keep track sometimes.”

                “I bet.  So what exactly are you doing?”

               “Walking.”

               “Walking?  That’s it?”

               “Pretty much.  I walk around, seeing the sights.  That’s pretty much it.”

               “I see.  Can I ask why?”

               “Because I can.”

               “Oh?”

               “Yeah.”  Frank closed his eyes and nodded his head.  Alex waited for him to elaborate, but it was quickly obvious that it wasn’t coming.

               “So what’s the reason behind that?  I mean, you must have one.”

               “Not really.  Well, I guess maybe a bit.  See, I used to work at a small time desk job.  Real dull work, but it paid the bills.  Mostly anyway.  One day after work I found that my legs got real stiff from sitting all day.  So I made up my mind to start walking.  I got a few things I’d need, and just started moving.  I’ve been walking around ever since.”

               “Ah.  So you’re like Forest Gump then?”  Alex asked jokingly.  Frank thought for a moment.

               “I guess I kind of am.  Except he was running, and I’m just walking.  I’m also not really going in a straight line, and I don’t think I’m gonna get a big crowd following me any time soon.”

               “If you’re not going in a straight line, then how do you choose where to go?”

               “I don’t.  I just kind of wander around in whatever direction I feel like at the time.  Sometimes I go the direction of the wind.  Other times I’ll follow an animal around.  Others I just pick a direction and go that way.”

               “You’re not aiming for landmarks or interesting sights or anything?”

               “Everything’s an interesting sight or a landmark.  It’s not just those big attractions like Mt. Rushmore or the Statue of Liberty or stuff like that.  I mean, I’ve seen a few of those big things, but that’s just because I happened to be there.  I learned a few weeks in that if you really look at things, just about everything is interesting.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “Well, have you ever really looked at people or things?  I bet not.  Let’s see.  Ah, you see those trees over there?”  He said, pointing to a small group of thin trees across the path.

               “Yeah?  They’re trees.  What about them?”

               “See, that’s what I mean.  You just see a group of small trees.  I see young life that’s struggling to exist.  I see all the things that have been done to them in the few years’ they’ve been where they are.  I can even see what will happen to them in the future.  Well, that last part’s just speculation, but even so.  When you really look at things, you can see so much more than what a thing is.  Ever person, plant, animal, and even object shows everything that’s ever happened to them.  It’s not easy to see, especially with people, but it’s there once you know how to see it.”

               “Huh.  So you know everything that’s ever happened to me then?”

               “It’s a bit more complicated than that.  But I can tell you’ve lead a good life.  You haven’t had many real troubles, and have grown up with people who care about you.  Even with all that, you’re determined to do what it takes to succeed.  I even see that you’ve gotten into a few scrapes in your childhood.  It’s all there, once you know how to look for it.”

               Alex blinked a few times.  Even though it hadn’t been much, Frank had gotten everything he said about Alex correct. 

               “So you’re more like Sherlock Holmes than Forest Gump I guess.”  He said.  Frank burst out laughing at that.

               “I wouldn’t go that far.  I just see things.  I don’t put them together.  I’m not going to go out solving any crimes any time soon, that’s for sure.  I do appreciate that one though.  I always liked those books growing up.”

               “I, uh, I see.  So, moving on, what’s in the backpack?”

               “Oh that.  Well, a month or so into my wanderings, I figured I should take something with me to show where I’ve been.  You know, for when I finally decide to stop.  So, I look around and take things that really represent the places I’ve been.  Not souvenirs or anything.  I mean things that really show what a place is like.  Things that have been around a place for awhile.  Things that have a lot done to them.  Things that have gathered the essence of a place.”

               “Is that where you learned to really look at things?”

               “No.  I picked up that skill before I started collecting things.  But it’s when I really started to refine the skill.  In fact, I started picking up these little things by looking at them.  I found every object is affected by the place where it is, some more so than others.  It’s not something just anybody can tell though.”

               “I see.  So what did you pick up around here?”

               “A piece of paper with numbers on it, a bottle cap that had been crushed flat, and an old penny.  I know it doesn’t sound like much to you, but to me, each of them tells a story about this city and the people in it.  That’s the kind of thing I look for.”

               “You’re right.  It sounds like junk to me, but I guess if it makes sense to you, that’s all that really matters, right?”

               “Of course.”  Frank said with a slight grin on his face.  He paused, looking out at the trees he had pointed out.  “So, anything else?”

               “Yeah.  Quite a bit, actually.”  Alex said.  His mind was reeling with things he could ask. So many that he knew it would probably take all day to do through them.  But Frank was a wanderer without a destination.  He had all the time in the world to answer them. 

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Sounds like the subject of a song or a move or something, doesn't it?  I'm sure someone like this could have a novel written about his travels, don't you think?  I mean, I know it's been done before, but what hasn't these days, right?  Well, it would be interesting, don't you think?