I am driving when a cop turns on his lights. Amused I pull over, turn the ignition off, fiddle with the glove box, knowing how cops hate this activity. “Ma’am he says, please keep your hands where I can see them.” I look at my chewed fingernails, thinking when was the last time I had them manicured for such an encounter with the cops. He asks the customary questions – license, registration, insurance, all of which I fumble to find in my old Chevy, a gift from a previous relationship long ago. He glances in my back seat at my trash and empty cigarette packs, lucky I threw the the beer and empty whiskey bottles out at the last hotel. He comes back with my license and asks if I know why he stopped me. I am so tempted to say what comes to mind but I refrain myself and say “no”. He says something about speeding and letting me off with a warning, winking at me as he gives back my license. I put the car into first and leave gravel spewing behind.
The little boy was screaming as the waves took him farther out to the ocean. His little blond head bobbing on top of the waves less and less as time went by. Finally a jet skier pulls the boy up out of the water. The boy looked both frightened and relieved to be safe in the arms of his rescuer. The sun was just setting, allowing the boy to see his worried parents waving frantically on the beach. There was a chill in the air, happy hour was ending as I grabbed one more whiskey sour and walked to the cabana just in time to see the sun kiss the ocean.
She never saw it, the truck barreling down the road as she discussed the birth of her grandchild. The cop held onto the handle of the truck, as the driver slammed into her vehicle. Her slippers neatly placed next to her husbands beside her bed at home. I flipped off the cop and walked away.
He sits beneath his favorite tree pondering his tomorrows and forgetting his yesterdays. He knows he will have fewer tomorrows than yesterdays and knows the glass of whiskey is half empty. The game is in its third quarter. Why hasn’t the game gone further? It has been days now and still the game is in its third quarter. He hears a voice say the game is over and has been for quite some time. But he thinks how could this be? He still has half a glass of whiskey and the game is in its third quarter. There is no fourth quarter. Is today yesterday or tomorrow? The sports paper recounts nothing of the game.
I see her hiding in a corner, out of the sight from city pedestrians. She has big brown eyes, twirling her pony-tail aimlessly with her fingers. She doesn’t speak a word but watches intently as people walk too close by. Something about her tells you not to speak or step into her carefully hidden corner. Something is lurking close to this child, but helpless, I to walk away. The girl seems not to notice and continues to twirl her hair watching the people walk by within her grasp, yet she remains safely hidden in plain sight.
A crowd gathered watching intently. Who was he? Was he alive? Where did he come from? Surely he wasn’t from this town. His suit indicated he had a job in a factory outside of a less populated city. He wore shoes that of a working class family man. But here he was in this old town, population of 2089, 2090 if you count the old man on a breathing ventilator waiting for his family to give him his last rights, etc. No, this man was indeed breathing and beginning to move. With one quick movement, without a word he stood and looked around. A small white and black dog appeared and joined him, as he walked slowly out of town He said not a word to the crowd.