My wife was kinda short and pudgy, with an egg-shaped face. She was cute as could be, gorgeous to me, but an uncommon combination of height, weight, and build. If she was walking toward me, I’d always know her from two blocks away, well before I could recognize her face.And she must’ve had a distinctive walk, too. It’s something I’d never noticed but blam, yesterday I saw it out the window of a bus — a short, pudgy woman was crossing the street, and then she walked south on California Avenue. That woman’s body shape was similar to Stephanie’s, but she was a little taller. What made me do a doubletake was that she had the same walk.

I’d never known that Stephanie had a specific walk. If you’d asked me, I’d’ve thought you were a kook. She walked like anyone else. She wasn’t Monty Python, and there aren’t that many ways to walk. Something must’ve been different about the mechanics of her footsteps, though, because jeez, there it was, yesterday out the window of the bus.

What’s even weirder is that Stephanie was in a wheelchair for the last seven years of her life. And for a few years before that, she had an uncomfortable limp as the leg problems worsened. She’s been dead for four years, so it’s been about a dozen years since I’ve seen Stephanie’s ordinary walk.

But I saw it yesterday, and there was no mistaking it. That woman across the street was walking my Stephanie’s walk.

Ask me HOW Stephanie’s walk was distinctive, and I couldn’t possibly describe it, because I have no idea. All I know is, I saw it yesterday. Some stranger was walking Stephanie’s walk on California Avenue.

Watching that woman cross the street and turn left wasn’t like seeing a ghost, but it sure blew me back in time. That old man staring out the bus’s window with a tear running down his cheek? That was me.

1/6/2023
Republished 2/7/2025

itsdougholland.com
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