Walking The Walk

Ian had been putting off taking his walk for a walk. How it had nudged him over and over, pulling at his clothes and spinning around his ankles all morning until his whole body was pumping to get out onto the pavement and walk.

Most people just walked but Ian was different, he had a walk. It was one of those walks which had previously walked around for years searching for a host; two legs wandering the world, frustrated, saving up their energy. Few people were worthy of such a walk. It took a certain physical strength in the upper body to carry such legs, or rather to be held up by the legs which walked the walk. And then, and more importantly there was the charisma, the swagger.

At school, Ian had been one of those boys who was never targeted or picked on by bullies, not because he was popular but because he appeared to be harbouring something powerful, a sort of internal weapon, primed to explode. The other boys could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, even the teachers were careful not to disturb the apparent delicate balance of his persona for fear of what may be unleashed.

He hadn’t had many friends at school, not that he needed them or ever made an effort to form friendships. It didn’t really matter, he still got chosen for team games and garnered a certain respect from his peers. The girls didn’t like him much although a few mistook his indifference to socialising as shyness and tried to tame him. The result being that they mistook his disinterest for personal rejection and the consequences of this only made the idea of complicated relationships even less appealing to him.

But for the walk it was different. Once the walk had got Ian in his sights it wasn’t giving up. It used to follow him up and down the street, observing his body language, gaging his energy. And from there it was just a matter of lining up the rhythm, rather like vaulting onto a moving horse. One day, the temptation proved too much and the walk took its opportunity and soldered itself seamlessly onto Ian’s legs.

Ian was similar in many ways to the walk’s former host, Mr Rook. They’d had forty six happy years together, striding through central London. Everyone knew Mr Rook’s walk. He’d been hard on his shoes, that was the downside of having such a walk. A new pair every six to nine months were purchased from Barker Shoes, the staff there knew him well. Mr Rook was a rich man, it was partly due to his walk, or perhaps his walk was empowered by Mr Rook, nevertheless it was a symbiotic relationship.

Sadly the walk had to leave Mr Rook when his health began failing, shortly after that, he was put into a nursing home by his son and from then on his legs never worked properly again. From time to time, his walk visited him and stood at the window of the care home, looking in on his legs which were by then covered by thick blankets. It was a sad do all round and after several months, the walk realised it was time to move on.

Now Ian still had some way to go in his career, partly because times had changed and partly because Ian was a diamond in the rough and Mr Rook had always been highly polished. However the walk could see Ian’s potential, he had a certain charisma and their coming together was each other’s destiny.

As an adult, Ian’s social life, mirrored that of his childhood, he had a few acquaintances, his colleagues didn’t cross him, his managers valued his input and sensed his untapped potential, his neighbour’s feared him, Members of the public respected his space and moved aside as he approached them on the pavement, sometimes clutching the wall, flattening themselves like Dover Soles in order to make way. His walk needed a lot of space, it pushed his legs forwards with some force, his torso lowered and raised like a ship as his thighs swung with imposing momentum in his chosen direction.

To the casual observer, it was as if he were absorbing energy from the very centre of the planet itself, the part where the fires burn at 5430 degrees. From here it went up through the pavement via the soles of his feet, channelling it through his body like the mother of all chargers. And the walk, harnessing this energy like a two-legged water wheel, some of it would be stored for later use and some just radiated out of him like a supreme inner power.

‘There’s that guy again,’ people would say, ‘you know, the one with the walk.’

‘Oh yes, I know, him. I can spot him a mile off, just from his walk.’

But the problem with having such a walk was that it must be walked. Ian wasn’t able to simply languish at home for the morning on his days off. There was a niggling in his calves, it travelled up, pulsing in his kneecaps and then surging higher into his thigh muscles, rippling through him, hulk style until he gave into it and put on his trainers. The trainers had been a revelation to the walk who had only ever experienced shoes from Barker Shoes, indeed the added bounce from the sole of Nike Air Force was a bonus which the walk took some getting used to.

Ian could clear the High Street in astonishingly few strides, it was a steep hill but his walk hardly felt it, from there they went through the park, across the new housing estate, along the towpath but his walk wasn’t satisfied. They went farther, across the lock, along the river, up the hill to Monty’s Fort, back down, through Ford’s Farm and back through town. Ian had thought about getting a dog so that they could both benefit from his walk but he was reluctant for now; people with dogs always stopped to chat to other people with dogs and to Ian, this seemed like a big commitment.

Back at home, he and his walk both rested. In the evening they would set out again and exercise with each other. They were a good match. Ian would one day, wear out but his walk was immortal. When that day came along, the walk would once again set out to find another host, it would mourn Ian for a while but eventually get over the separation and start anew with somebody else’s legs, somebody powerful with charisma and plenty of untapped potential.