KINSEY & ME

A Short Short Story

By Ilona Saari

Libbey Park

I relate to Kinsey Millhone.  I power walk to burn off the Cheez-Its I eat late at night while watching the remodeling of homes on HGTV I would love to own…  Kinsey jogs to burn off her Big Macs. 

It doesn’t matter that Kinsey’s a fictional detective who solves mysteries and I’m a real person who reads and writes them, we both love junk food and we both get “high” from our morning jaunts.  Of course, her jaunt is a three-mile run around the streets of her picturesque California town that’s exhilarating and meditative.  My jaunt is a short mile and a half stroll/walk through Libbey Park in my picturesque California town of Ojai.

Kinsey also notices people and so do I.  Lately I’ve been noticing a lady in the park.

While “in the zone,” I’ve become familiar with many of the faces who have become part of my walking “crowd”… a swarthy, compact middle-aged man who listens to music (or, perhaps, NPR), as he walks his little dog, and nods when he passes me; a rugged looking guy about forty in pressed jeans and cowboy boots who walks and talks with a coiffed  blonde dressed more for shopping than working up a sweat;  plus assorted elderly people who walk in pairs, and new moms who try to run as they push their infants in carriages in an effort to lose those last five pounds of “baby” fat.   

The first time I saw the “lady in the park” she was climbing out of an old Chevy van parked on Bristol, a neighborhood street not far from the park.  She slid open its side door, pulled out a folding “beach” chair, entered the park and sat herself down near Libbey Bowl.   As I breezed by her (well, “breeze” might be an exaggeration), I saw that she had also taken out a cooler.  It was a lovely day, so I figured she’d come to the park to have a picnic.  I didn’t question why she hadn’t carried her chair and cooler the short distance to the area that actually offered picnic tables… I just figured she liked to be surrounded by the “action.”

The next morning the lady showed up again, this time wearing powder blue sweats.  The day before, her ensemble had been tan.  As I completed my first half-mile, I saw that this time she had placed her chair under a tree and was sitting contentedly doing nothing.  She smiled at no one as I whisked by (another exaggeration) and wondered if her long, straight, platinum hair was her own.  By the time I finished my stroll/walk, she had moved her chair into the sun.  Seven minutes and thirty seconds later as I left the park and headed for my car, I saw her again standing by her van, the doors wide open, and I could see that it was filled to the brim with “stuff.”  It looked like the van was open for business at a flea market.

She’s been coming to the track every morning now for months, each day with a different color sweat suit.  My personal favorite, which made its debut on Easter Sunday, was pink.  Not light pink or dark rose, but bubblegum, Barbie pink.  While I marveled at the color and wondered why anyone her age would wear so much of it, I began to really wonder who the lady in the park was.  Like Kinsey, I ran through my mind what I knew.    She appeared to be around forty, she had an array of colorful sweats, she was probably blonde, drove a van that was about ten years old and didn’t seem to live in it.

Unlike others in the park who were jogging or walking to keep fit, the lady in the park just sits.  During my thirty-minute walk, she often moves her beach chair from under the trees to a place in the sun, then back again.  She does nothing else of note, except fill her water bottle from a nearby fountain from time to time.

At first, I thought she might live in her van, after all… a suburban bag lady… but I couldn’t figure out how she kept so immaculate.  Where does she wash her hair (or wig)?  Where does she do her laundry?  How does she pay for gas?

Nope, she’s not a bag lady. Maybe she was an undercover cop surveying the park for gang bangers, terrorists or possibly just litter-ers.   Or maybe she was a P. I., keeping a clandestine eye on Mr. Cowboy Boots.  Would Kinsey sit day after day in plain sight watching her prey?  Would she disguise herself in pastel sweats and a blonde wig?  Wouldn’t she at least read a book as she sat vigil?

Before my lady in the park disappeared during Covid, I’d often think of talking to her, but as I watched her watching me, I decided I really didn’t want to know. I don’t want to know if she’s homeless or if she comes to the park to escape her life.  I wanted to believe she’s a lady of mystery whose life is filled with many friends and loved ones… and at that point, I understood that I’m really not like Kinsey.  Fictional Kinsey lives in the real world, I’m happiest in my fictional one.