Page 23 of Clear Path

“Do you want to join me?”

“Wish I could, but I only close for a few hours between the lunch rush and dinner.”

“That’s my cue.” Bodhi shouldered his pack. “Thanks again for letting me stay here. It was kind of you.”

Will brushed off his gratitude. “Any friend of Aunt Dot’s is welcome here. Besides, you saved my bacon, er, tofu, during the dinner rush.” He handed Bodhi a small paper bag. “Some apples and homemade granola for the trail. Union Hill’s a good hike from here.”

They stepped out onto the porch and walked as far as the burger stand together.

“You sure you don’t want a lift to the trailhead?”

“Positive.” He’d kept the man from his work long enough.

“Okay, then just follow the road until you get to the vape shop. You can cut across the park to meet up with the trailhead instead of staying on the road. It’ll save you some time.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Take care,” Will said.

They shook hands, then Bodhi set off, rejoining the trail as it wound around the far side of the lake.

As he followed the curve of the path, he saw Will rolling up the burger stand’s metal door to start his day’s work. He climbed the hill, and Will shrank to a pinprick in the distance.

Bodhi hugged the road’s narrow shoulder as it wound toward town. Traffic was light, but most of the drivers zipping by him seemed to take the posted speed limit as nothing more than a gentle suggestion. When he reached the vape shop and saw the sign for the Clarksville Community Park, he let out a soft, relieved sigh.

He waited for a break in the traffic to cross over to the park entrance. As he was about to step into the street, a silver sports car sped toward him, coming from the direction of Clayton Falls. He jumped back.

A second later, the car screeched to an abrupt stop as a school bus headed toward Clayton Falls stopped and extended its stop-sign arm. As the driver opened the door to pick up a gaggle of middle schoolers, Bodhi studied the occupants of the car—identified by its badge as a Jaguar. Two men, both clad in fleece jackets, sat, staring straight ahead, not speaking as they waited for the bus driver to close the door and pull in the stop sign.

He wondered idly if this was the same car and the same men who’d shown up at Billy’s Burgers after Will had closed up last night. He turned to take a closer look at the pair, but just then the bus pulled away, and the Jaguar shot forward and raced away, the loud purr of the engine fading as the car disappeared from view.

He crossed the street, walked past a basketball court that featured a pair baskets with ripped and dangling nets, one backboard missing its glass. Then he cut through the empty playground and found the footpath that led to the GAP trail.

When he reached a fenced-in private yard, he thought he’d strayed from his course until he read the small wooden sign mounted near the gate:Hikers and bikers, please be sure to close and latch both gates behind you. Safe travels.

He did as instructed, sending his gratitude to the property owners who saw fit to share their access to the GAP freely.

On the other side, the trail widened. Twenty yards later, he spotted the marker that meant he was back on the GAP. The path unspooled at his feet, pulling him forward toward Union Hill.

14

Union Hill

Rory woke fuzzy-headed and dry-mouthed. Dehydrated, no doubt, from her poor choices the night before. She hauled herself out of bed and headed to the kitchen on shaky legs for a glass of water. She remembered the ad hoc art installation in her living room before she reached the hallway.

She detoured to her studio to grab her camera and ran to the living room to raise the privacy screen and fling open her French doors. Then, she raced down to the cobblestone courtyard barefoot and still wearing her pajamas. She clambered up to the rooftop deck outside the tapas restaurant and wine bar to peer into her own living room at the narrative the prints told: A story of coal miners, mothers, teenagers, widows, and business owners losing their spaces juxtaposed with developers, tourists, business owners, and newcomers taking their places. In a small irony, the exhibit included one self-portrait—Rory’s reflection in the glass of the ancient grains bakery.

She lifted her viewfinder to her eye and focused on the display, firing off several shots. Then she ran back down tothe courtyard and sprinted up the stairs to her apartment. Out of breath, she grabbed her laptop and typed a statement to accompany the images:

Push/Pull: An Exhibition of Displacement

We preserve what we value. We discard what we don’t.

All along the Great Allegheny Passage, communities are being transformed. Some are being revitalized, pulling in new visitors, new residents, new businesses. Others are being left behind, withering away from neglect and lack of opportunity. And still others are being demolished, hollowed out from within as longtime residents are pushed aside to make way for a new vision of prosperity.

Portions of this now-expanded installation were originally meant to be exhibited in Pittsburgh’s Hot Metal Art Gallery. That showing has been canceled due to creative differences. I never wanted to insert myself into this narrative, but now I realize I’m in it whether I like it or not.

So I’m taking this exhibition out of the exclusive gallery space and putting it where it belongs—in plain sight, in the communities being affected, visible to everyone regardless of whether they can afford gallery admission or feel comfortable in curated art spaces.

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