Traffic

The line for the one drive-up ATM at the Commerce Bank in Brookside stalled behind a green Honda pulled to the right-hand curb.  The car in front of mine stopped, its driver baffled at the lack of brake lights displayed at the rear of the Honda.  I tapped my horn, just a small sound, barely discernible amidst the afternoon noise.  But the wagon in front of me started forward.

As I passed the stalled car, the driver bent his head to the edge of his iPhone and closed his eyes.  I pulled beside him, looked into his car, and rolled down my passenger window.  He saw me watching and waved, adding a little smile to let me know that I didn’t need to worry.  I raised my eyebrows and he smiled again, and nodded.  So I drove on.

The ATM refused my cash.  I tried three times before noticing the red light bar across the cash deposit terminal.  A brief clutch of annoyance gripped my stomach, but I drove around and parked in the handicapped space,  open the  car door, and swung my legs out, my right hand still holding my cash and ATM card.  At that instant, a  little blue car whipped into the space beside mine, nipping my car door and scattering the ten twenty-dollar bills in my hand.

The driver leaped out of her car and started at a brisk pace toward the doors to the bank.  Did you not see what you did, I asked her.  She halted on the walk and immediately snapped, I did not do anything!  We stood looking at one another while my cash flew around in the light breeze.

I started scrambling, calling to her, please!  catch that money! A girl came out of the bank and saw us, speaking to the woman who still stood motionless on the sidewalk.  What’s wrong, Mom? she asked, and I answered for the mute observer:  My money, can you please help me gather it? and then the three of us crouched on the ground while a small crowd gathered and I worried about how ridiculous I must look, in my heavy boots, my leggings and my short denim skirt.

The two of them chased my money, snatching the last missing twenties from under my car.  They consolidated their findings into one pile and handed it to me, the older woman still muttering that she had certainly not done anything.  I counted the bills and said, Oh, good, it’s all here!  I reached out my hand to shake each of theirs, and told them how much I appreciated their help.  I couldn’t have gotten it without the two of you!  And I smiled.  The daughter had no idea how the money had found its way out of my hand and onto the ground; she beamed at me, radiant, happy, and got into the passenger’s door of her mother’s car.

I gave the mother one last grin and turned away from them both, and walked towards the building.  The rest of the customers scattered, the impromptu show over.  As a teenager held open the door for me, the woman slowly backed out of her space, crept forward to the edge of the lot, and, signalling, moved into traffic.

 

One thought on “Traffic

  1. Cindy Cieplik

    Lack of mindfulness is truly difficult for folks to acknowledge, isn’t it?
    That is a skill you have honed in an exemplary way…bravo!
    (glad you got your twenties back also!)

    Reply

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