Dynamic Duos

Sitting at a red light, I watched a white Lamborghini come speeding around the corner with a black motorcycle, the driver clad in all black too, racing after it. I was sitting in my Honda CR-V, mildew growing on the weatherstripping. I felt covered in moss, too; another dynamic duo of sorts. The moss is a reminder that this body is a place to grow, but right now, I am sick of growing. I thought about what I would give to feel the air rushing over my skin; my hair behind me, like a chemtrail, and any piece of me that is not mine, ripped off and left to the wayside. A lot. I would give a lot. But right now, I have to sit at red lights, and watch motorcycles chase Lamborghinis.

There is a bus stop on the corner of Cherry and MLK. I turned past it, and caught the metro sign shimmering in the sun with drops of water from the downpour moments before still clinging to it. Standing there were a man and a woman; both grey. There was no rush – no hurry – in their faces. Just a man and a woman, chins turned up to the sky, the way a plant twists and stretches toward a window, letting sunlight seep into their wrinkled skin.

I wonder where they spent their years that I’m in now.

I wonder where I’ll spend my years that they’re in now.

There are many revolutions between now and then, and if I’m too reckless, the frog will boil while my back is turned. So I’m taking a minute to watch the silhouettes of two glass coffee mugs dance on the window sill where just one used to stand, and revel in the meaning beyond dishware and refracted light.

I’d like to stop and consider all that I have done today, on a very quiet day.
Woke up.
Got up.
Got dressed.
Looked in the mirror.
Walked away.
Made a coffee.
Read a few pages.
Made some toast and eggs.
Went to work.
All in silence.
Called my brother over lunch - a break in silence.
Worked late.
Stationary biked.
Bought some groceries.
Made dinner.
Ate dinner.
All in silence.

And now I would like to stop and consider what someone else has done today. I would like to wonder about the mundane routines of a body other than my own. It is so easy to feel like the only creature here, but the beautiful thing – the lucky thing – is I’m not. You, dear reader, woke up today. You had a whole day, just as I did. And now here you are, right where I once was. We’ve just missed one another! Maybe next time our paths will cross.