I Saw You

I saw you through the gap under the vehicle next to the spot where you stood.  You could not have seen me, but you heard my voice.  You turned; you did not hesitate.  You crossed the pavement in a single stride and said, What happened.  You did not smirk when I answered, I fell over backwards. 

Your wife — a lady, in any event, your sister maybe but I did not think so — stayed beside your truck.  I briefly contemplated how accustomed she must be to waiting while you rescued someone, to stay so calm.  

Anything amiss, then? Everything in order? you asked.  I clutched my camera against the wool of my jacket and said, I think so, ignoring my ego which succumbed to massive bruising years ago. 

What’s the procedure, you queried next; you  figured that I would have one.  

Straight up, I answered, with as much aplomb as I could muster.  One hand or two, came your reply.  Two hands, I instructed, and on the count of three.

When I had gained my footing you gently asked, What now?  I told you that I intended to move my car into a space from which someone had just left, assuming it remained unoccupied.  You assured me that it did and I gleefully, maybe just a bit hysterically, urged you to watch it for me.  

From my rearview mirror, I saw you standing by your open door.  Your wife had settled in her seat.  I threw my car in park and grasped the walking stick which I so despise.  I struggled over the curb and climbed the path to the rail.  You couldn’t know that I had toppled while trying to see the sunset from somewhere other than between the horizontal bars.  You couldn’t have grasped the struggle in my breast, the nerve it took to call out to you. 

When the sun had sunk below the distant horizon, I turned away.  I started across the road; and then, glancing around to insure that I had a clear path, I saw you, sitting in your truck, watching me.  I raised a hand.  You lifted your finger from the steering wheel.  Your lights flashed; then you backed out of your space, and went about your evening.

It’s the twenty-eighth day of the eighty-third month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

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