First, let me preface a few Rob Boyd fun-facts you don't know and probably should (at least for the purposes of this post—you can scrub them from your mind without harmful side effects later):
- I walk two miles a day. I leave the house, write, work out at the gym, then return home to greet my wife with an exhausted sweaty kiss at the end of each day.
- My daily needs accompany me in an overstuffed (also sweaty) grass-green LL Bean backpack.
- I live in the north Midwest. Winter night temps peak around 10 degrees when it's balmy.
- In college, a police officer pulled me over and, after blasting a flashlight in my face, requested backup before searching my car.
My walk home from the gym is about 3/4 mile. Most of that is without sidewalk, but, even in snow, I can trudge the berm without stepping into traffic. The only exception is a 10 yard stretch following a T-intersection. There, the T-base dips beneath a concrete railroad bridge, leaving room one car, each direction, and one skinny pedestrian to pass without overlapping.
Overlapping is bad, especially for the pedestrian. As said pedestrian, I am fastidiously careful crossing under the bridge as I am also very un-thin. I walk on the left side, hugging the wall and gauge oncoming traffic for overlapping potential. Not much I can do if there is. I'm a writer, not Spiderman. I can't climb to safety, but still I watch—and pray.
Last night I prayed and crossed under the bridge. I wound out and off and up the road, working along a snowdrift when a polished black Escalade approached from behind and stopped. The front window was even with my shoulder.
Not knowing how to prepare, I stopped too.
Was this a ride?
A mugging?
Questions for directions?
The window whined down and Ms. Mother-of-the-world pressed her face against the cold. "We can barely see you!" The icy wind is a burden born by the vigilant reprimander. From the looks, I'm not too worried about her burden: the ice across her face is far warmer than the stuff in her veins.
Muttered amongst my previous prayers for not getting run down were also pleas about not hurling sarcasm at crazy people. God has heard, and here he tests my resolve. Thoughts like, Well if you stay on your side of the road you'll miss me for sure, and I can strip down if you'd like to see more, race down from my brain.
A simple, "okay..?" is what wins my lips, sounding like, "and you expect me to do what about this?"
Her post-PTA hair-nest ruffles with rats of exasperation. Rob the street pedestrian has not paid proper homage. She continues."Black, is not a good color."
I know millions of Americans who would disagree.
I consider turning the reprimand to a mirror. Why not ask what sane person stops their car in the middle of the night to confront a stranger in the street? Are those kids in the car with her? I am not the face of evil, but in the light of a street-side dressing-down that doesn't matter. If I were armed with more than the burn of facial scruff and a tired leer, I could drive away in her prestigious automobile, warming her face with exhaust fumes from the SUV.
 |
| Not Rutger Hauer from the Hitcher, but enough to frighten a wayward Hobbit. |
Instead, I shook my head as the window rose, hiding my ignorance. Either silence or my refusal to change clothes bored her. The engine revved and the world's mother accelerated her brood away.
When I arrived home, my Pirate Queen shrugged. "You thought they only existed in California?"
No, apparently not. I quickly jotted the experience in my notebook. Now she also exists amongst my character profiles too.
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