Contrasts

The Embarcadero runs along the edge of San Francisco Bay. On the Bay side, it is one long sidewalk, unbroken by stoplights and intersections. Because of that, and because it is level, the Embarcadero is a favorite place for lunchtime walkers, joggers, runners, and skaters.

This afternoon there was also a cyclist. She was young, probably about five or six, riding her red bike complete with training wheels in the plaza in front of the Ferry Building. Running along behind her was her dad. She had a big grin as she pedaled furiously, trying to escape, but knowing, like Margaret Wise Brown's Runaway Bunny, that there was no escape. At the end of the plaza, she turned her handlebars and steered her bike into a wide arc.

"Aha!" laughed dad, slightly out of breath. "I've caught you!"

About a quarter mile down is Pier 7. The Pier has green wrought iron railing, about 3-1/2 feet tall, and lamps that look like old-fashioned streetlights. At the end of the Pier there are usually several fishermen, most older, of all different ethnicities. Their sea poles are out as they wait for bottom fish. During the season, they have crab pots over the side, hoping for Dungeness.

There were no fishermen today.

Along the railing, someone has places several glass hearts, the kind that you find used for flower arranging. Mylar ballons are tied on the posts, along with angels, a teddy bear, and a big rubber duck. The bench in front of the railing is covered with flowers and more teddy bears. Another bench has still more flowers and several candles. There are some poems and several stickers that say "Fragile--Handle with Care."

This is where LaShaun Harris threw her three boys into the cold Bay water. The voices in her head told her to.

Why here? Why come all the way across the Bay from Oakland?

Two containerships glide under the Bay Bridge to the cranes at the Port of Oakland. A ferry pulls into its dock. The air is remarkably clear--I can see the facades of the Navy and Marine Museums on Treasure Island. The bells of the Ferry Building sound. I have to get back to the office, back to work, where a picture of my family is the wallpaper on my computer. The voices in my head, usually nagging me about something I need to do, are quiet.