As I grow older it becomes more and more important to remember people’s mistakes. No wonder God is so lonely up there. One of the most terrifying things I’ve heard in my life was “Watch out, I keep a list of everything.” This might be true of the guy up above, too, so the solitude might be called for, after all. But no worries, I’ve moved up my arrival.
This strategy of counting sins is the only way to keep standing when day-to-day strangers and those closest to you play darts on your weaknesses for no apparent reason. This is rather a habit of the latter, because strangers don’t care that much about your existence or your demise, and because the closest to you regard it as motivation rather than an obliteration of some surviving act (that some of us learn to keep up through extensive training called the real world). These heartbreaking moments are the burdens of being spoiled according to the weak-spot hunting bastards. You could take the hits like a man and unfold your own list of observations about their snowflake personalities. The only other possibility is to leave, because you can’t just sit there listening to people making sure you feel like shit. Usually, it is better to apt for the first one but option number two in action for me this time: buy a magazine and go on a date.
A drop of water landed on my arm as I walked away from the scene. And another one, and another one. I paused on the pavement and in disbelief I thrust my grin in the air wondering what kind of a sneaky cloud targeted me on this hot summer day. “Or is it people sweating on every floor of the building and those drops just happened to land on me?” I imagined with all the paranoia I had in me. Oh, actually, no. These cheap, lazy people. Air-conditioners were peeing from the apartments above. Perfect.
And people wonder why I like to take my bike when I leave the house. It most certainly beats this umbrella weather and hell temperature blend. At least cycling provides me with a breeze as strong as my legs make it out to be. The wonders of two wheels. Although there is a combination of a strong wind and high body temperature, too. Moderation is key, but no need to get one of them talents, or anything.
I got my magazine from an unusual place that “drizzly” morning, and the lack of sorrow on my face confused the owners.
“My condolences” one said to force some emotion out of me.
“Oh, no, it’s not like that” I said with a vague smile which crept them out even more, but I left to let them talk behind my back and not to my face. I browsed the magazine on my way back to my bike and contemplated on the kind of tomb I would like. Don’t get me wrong, I am healthy and young but also, I am of the stubborn kind. Some would call it acting like a “hero”. Bound to compromise my lifestyle, soon. White coffin it is. Only fitting.
Have you ever met an obnoxious person on the road who is always in a hurry? I know. Me too. It’s me. I don’t intend to do so but I always have these urges to be …late. Still, my obnoxiousness on the road doesn’t come from this, I don’t think. The traffic provides me with a set of rules I can play by. That is just it. Very clear lines between who has the right of way. When obeying these rules I feel like for the first time in a very long time, I am right. There is no dispute. Almost like a passion for art, I feel at home. A perfect escape. I am strangely comforted by traffic lights among a crowd of very, very lost people. I can’t help myself, with no exception, I favor the rules over circumstantial practicality. By the extension of the law my parents are behind me on these decisions, too. And this feeling is not at all familiar in any other context, so I savior it every time. Even if I have to go out of my way to show that I am right. Still, the participants of this scheme almost never agree.
It mustn’t be hard to imagine my expectations when I put these precious rules on hold. My road rage means that if I don’t have to stop and yet I decide to do so, I’m sorry, I want to see some hustle, not the idle afternoon stroll on the zebra, please. The queen could envy that type of easiness that I come across in these streets. Of course, there is worse – some pedestrians actually look around to see if there is oncoming traffic and then look you right in the eye, like proper zombies, and step in your way anyway. I can already see them pleading to the judge “Oh, I didn’t see her.” Really, now. Why did you look then, dear? But still somehow, my heart goes out to them and I feel like there is a bad day card for everyone, so not each case deserves my cursing.
But some species don’t get any jokers – the divas. It is not fair that these can blend in with the rest by wearing regular people’s clothes, and come in both genders. They should be the ones appearing in the usual 911 parade, flashing lights and big noise. They are the true enemy. Your highness, eventually someone, (on occasion, me) is going to show you how horrible the world is around you that you so vigorously refuse to acknowledge.
These people never ever learn. I feel it is my duty to terrify them just by almost ending their lives so that they are shaken up and pay attention next time. But nobody thanks me for all these lives I save, when people texting on their way home wonder off onto the road – and I let them have one more day of family time, one more day of playing in the park, one more day of love, one more day of …texting.
Sometimes I’m in the wrong of course, and I admit it and wave or nod towards the kind person, for suspending all order for my sake. But that grateful face fades right after I hear some kind of acceleration or displeasure as I engage. I’m so sorry I gave into your kind gesture of giving me the right of way. I wish I had been more considerate and played the traffic tango of two people who both want to come off as generous gods. Nothing more ridiculous than two vehicles moving one inch at a time. A drive-through of simple decency would suffice in this city. Or just a lesson.
Here I was late again, this time from a date, so you can imagine, a serious dent on my first impression. I got a load off of being right on the road but was already preparing myself for the embarrassment when I arrive: “Yes, yes, sorry.”
The breeze in this case needed to be calculated, not interrupted for even one moment, otherwise I would get there sweaty. So something rare happened to me this time as I steadily paced the bike. I ran over someone on the way. But I did have the right of way. So.
I arrived and a huge weight lifted from my chest as I entered a white room, with fluffy cumulus carpets. Finally.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Peter.”
“Don’t call me Peter.”
“I’m sorry… Your Honor” I said in embarrassment.
“What did you do?” he asked with tiny tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
I tried to imagine the forthcoming scene with me playing dumb, and asking what he may possibly be referring to – but who are we kidding, he knows all. “Well, I ran over someone.”
“Is he okay?”
“I don’t think so…” I replied with a hint of remorse. “But I was right, so it doesn’t count, right?” I was so excited that I knew the rules of the game and that the law was behind me and also, I had heroically taught everyone the consequences of not paying attention. And I had chosen my coffin already, too.
He swallowed another wave of tears and gave me the keys as he mumbled with a frozen stare: “Who wants to be right like this?”
I had never thought my convictions would be condemned here, too.
Right behind me came the oblivious man with a phone in his hand, who had become the casualty of my perfectly executed lesson to the world. He wasn’t late, he was early. He was way early.
(Based on this Story Jam)
Fruit from this Jam:
Descent by Benjamin
pari libra by Envy
"They do not use anaesthetic." by Jan Flisek-Boyle
Morning Cereal by H.L.W.
The Unexpected by appylord57
Past Life by Vivian Peng
Out of Season by RichardLakin
The ethics of genocide by kouq
Them. by ustink
Dangerous Path by Zita Barlai
the disease by
Duck...Duck...Goose by Ameya
Ashes to Ashes by Jess Fechner
Cardinal by a-bigler