I almost jumped in my retreat, despite the bicycle between my legs. I was a cocktail of shyness, startle, and a sense of being noticed. I was yanking the bottoms of my bike shorts closer to my knees from under the dress I wore to work. I was looking past the barrier as I did it. And we saw each other.

There’s a few things I do because they feel sacred. If I am on my bike on West Side of Buffalo, I go to the Shoreline Trail Bridge platform. It’s over I-190, and has a stunning view. So there I was. In front of me, Lake Erie’s splendor pouring into the Niagara River. Behind me, a bridge called Peace. And below, this man.

Distance didn’t stop me from feeling him watching me. A youngish man, white, shirtless, dark shorts, with his bike and fishing equipment next to him. The afternoon sun showed the edges and ridges of his body – he had the build of man with a physical job. He must have just arrived, nothing was unpacked. He was on the bottom of the trail, where it ends. I was on a platform, stories above him. He saw me looking at him. Did we make eye contact?

I looked away and pulled out of sight to pretend I hadn’t seen him, the way you do with a neighbor that you’re trying to gift the illusion of privacy. We’re all so close in this city that we practice pretending not to notice; it’s a lie. I don’t see who comes to your house, who walks down the street with the ill-advised companion at 5:45AM, or who walks up the street with a commandeered shopping cart from Tops. Your bare feet were sticking out the driver’s side window of your Dodge Ram – it was your lunch break, and you were reading a book. I giggled. I approved. I saw nothing.

All of us share this city. All of us have rich lives, struggles, and perspectives, and an existence that is just ours, and ours alone. Yet being here is something we’re doing together, something we are sharing, both in time and space. I never really feel alone.

He looked away, and then I did. I rested my eyes into the distance. Lake Erie is really beautiful, how can you not notice? The view is sacred to me and I was there to worship. In that moment I looked out at the world I belong to, the world that stretches beyond my gaze, the world that will always be larger than I am. I paid my respects with my attention.

And this man ceased to be part of the landscape and became real. What was he thinking? Was he waiting for someone, wondering if I was them? Wondering if they’d arrive soon, disappointed to see it was me? Was he disappointed to be noticed? Could he see my bike shorts? I doubted that -they were the same color as my black dress. Was he creeped out? Curious Indifferent? What did I look like to him?

I talk to a lot of strangers. For a long time, random people would unsolicitedly tell me their life stories, like I had a sign on my forehead inviting them to do so. I usually didn’t mind it – people are the most interesting thing to me. I am curious by disposition. I want to know all about you.

Everyone has an eternity inside of them. I retreated again, pulled away completely, aimed my bike at Niagara Street and left. I’ll never know what his was.