The heat is stifling on
this Thursday afternoon. The sun beats down on my back, and all I can think of
is where I might escape the overwhelming oppression of its heat. They call this
place "the melting pot." Now I know why. I quickly begin to think of
other thoughts, in an attempt to distract myself from how uncomfortable I feel
at present.
It's loud. Cars speed by noisily, or--just as obtrusively--slam hard on their breaks to stop. People, all sorts of people, walk by me. They are bitching, moaning, grunting, laughing, yelling, fighting, howling, roaring, talking to one another, talking about each other (“he walks too slow!” “look at her outfit!” “their kid is ugly!” ... these are just a few selects to paint a picture of the type of commentary I am currently privy to.) Even the buildings! The buildings are deafeningly tall and are ear-piercingly wide.
And here I am. In the middle of it all. Here I am, just listening. Quietly observing the little world around me.
But what I am not aware of is that the young man at the other side of the park is quietly observing me. He hasn't for a moment taken his eyes off me since I planted myself at the very chair on which I sit. He's seen every time I've wiped sweat off my brow, every tiny smile I've smiled to myself, every eye roll, sneeze, every time I reached for the book inside by bag just so I can look like I'm doing something, every time I tucked my hair behind my ear. Every blank stare I've stared into absolutely nowhere. He saw when I tripped after I got up and saw me wave my hand for a cab when I left.
The voice in his head was as loud as the cars, was as blaring as the people around the imaginary cocoon he built around he and I, and as clamorous as the surrounding buildings, inside of which he could feel people staring out at him from every window. "Say hello to her" this voice told him, but he didn't move. Not even a flinch other than to acknowledge the cold shiver flowing down his back.
Three years later, fate would bring these two together again.
It's loud. Cars speed by noisily, or--just as obtrusively--slam hard on their breaks to stop. People, all sorts of people, walk by me. They are bitching, moaning, grunting, laughing, yelling, fighting, howling, roaring, talking to one another, talking about each other (“he walks too slow!” “look at her outfit!” “their kid is ugly!” ... these are just a few selects to paint a picture of the type of commentary I am currently privy to.) Even the buildings! The buildings are deafeningly tall and are ear-piercingly wide.
And here I am. In the middle of it all. Here I am, just listening. Quietly observing the little world around me.
But what I am not aware of is that the young man at the other side of the park is quietly observing me. He hasn't for a moment taken his eyes off me since I planted myself at the very chair on which I sit. He's seen every time I've wiped sweat off my brow, every tiny smile I've smiled to myself, every eye roll, sneeze, every time I reached for the book inside by bag just so I can look like I'm doing something, every time I tucked my hair behind my ear. Every blank stare I've stared into absolutely nowhere. He saw when I tripped after I got up and saw me wave my hand for a cab when I left.
The voice in his head was as loud as the cars, was as blaring as the people around the imaginary cocoon he built around he and I, and as clamorous as the surrounding buildings, inside of which he could feel people staring out at him from every window. "Say hello to her" this voice told him, but he didn't move. Not even a flinch other than to acknowledge the cold shiver flowing down his back.
Three years later, fate would bring these two together again.
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