2005-12-02
Red Light Junction
He was the kind of man you couldn't tell if he was local or foreign. Riding in a beaten pick-up truck that seemed to have come from the Inbetweens and Forgotten Roads.
Swarthy skin - his coarse tan was such that one couldn't tell where nature stopped and the elements tilled. The occasional trick of light hinted at his weathered features, and blended his complexion with the musty brown of the vehicle's interior.
Contractor boots - bright yellow ones both offending and cheerily familiar at once. He had them propped up easily against the dash board. He was a small man, easily tucked into the space between the passenger seat and the dashboard. He seemed comfortable. Too comfortable.
A shock of greasy but goodnatured black hair flecked with the grey of hard work, and loose, amorphous clothes. Amorphous. He had an amorphous face. He was an amorphous face.
My thoughts drifted. The large woman in pink I was seated next to, and now bound to in fellow commutership. The disastrous debates of the day. My chipping nail polish. And how I never really liked painted nails, but ended up with them anyway. The hot guy who lived some blocks away...
I must have smiled, because at that moment the Truck Man pointed teasingly at me and grinned. He winked.
I blinked. Almost immediately, I found myself sliding into a fit of coughs as I slid further into the bus seat. The patch of road beyond the pick-up had never seemed more attractive. Like a deer pinned by the penetrating headlights of an oncoming car, I grappled with the strange sensation of feeling helplessly vulnerable to his quizzical scrutiny yet protected by the cool armour I had steeled myself in.
From the corner of my eye, I couldn't resist throwing my new acquaintance a glimpse. He chuckled soundlessly and nudged his driving companion.
Darn. The two-men pantomime nibbled into my coolness as I provided them with yet another act: The Blushing Girl. Our two windows, now two screens.
He lifted a finger and flicked it lightly in a parody of a rock-star's salute. I could feel the corners of my mouth turn up involuntarily and a multi-fold response lit his face. For that split second, we both tasted victory - the tension was broken
Broken. The bus lurched and the truck glided through our parallel existence. Truck Man turned back and his gaze never left mine, until the raging traffic tore us apart.
nothing ever happens at 3:41 p.m.