A
car whizzes past on my right from behind me, and swishes off into the
distance, stopping abruptly at the spoon-drain that marks the
intersection of the road the two guys just turned off of – they are
getting closer now. Almost within earshot. The one on my left is
talking, with his left hand – the one closest to his partner –
gesturing slowly and making circles in the space in front of them.
Who are they, what are they talking about? What do they do here and
why this street? Why now? They both look up together, simultaneously,
and spot me as I had spotted them just before. The tone of the
speaker dips slightly as they approach me, surely an unconscious
reflex, but I wonder to myself though, what is it that they were
talking about, and why am I not permitted to listen? Even by
accident, even by complete chance. Surely their conversation is not
relevant to me. Surely not? Surely. Surely.
I
furtively throw my gaze up from the pavement for one last time before
we pass and resume our previous roles of complete strangers – never
having met, or even exchanged pleasantries. Their gazes haunt me
though, as the distance between our backs grows at the same rate as
before. My walk speeds up slightly, and my brain races along with the
determined stride of my feet that carry my along the thin footpath.
What if they were talking about me? They had every opportunity to
look me up and down as soon as they rounded the corner; as soon as I
could judge them, so they could judge me in turn. What anomaly could
be so obvious in my appearance that they would have discussed it at
length, before secretively hushing their judgement as we crossed
paths? What did they see? What is wrong with my clothes? My face? My
hair or the way that I walk? Why do they hate me, these strangers,
two men who I have never met?
Maybe their stares were ones of pity, or sadness, as they saw my pathetic figure approaching them, alone and depressed, with my hands hanging down my sides like limp appendages, swinging without purpose. Maybe they could see in me what I have not yet identified myself, some awful predisposition to failure, or unhappiness. They could tell more about me from one quick glance, than I could possibly have discovered in all my life, after all my wanderings, and searchings, and introspective thoughts. Maybe that is the very reason they could see it... because I have searched so long for imperfections within myself that the truth of my complete inadequacy has eluded me... glaringly obvious as it is, sitting right in front of my nose. I think these thoughts, and I trace them over several times in my mind. “Complete inadequacy”, “obvious, complete inadequacy”.
Maybe their stares were ones of pity, or sadness, as they saw my pathetic figure approaching them, alone and depressed, with my hands hanging down my sides like limp appendages, swinging without purpose. Maybe they could see in me what I have not yet identified myself, some awful predisposition to failure, or unhappiness. They could tell more about me from one quick glance, than I could possibly have discovered in all my life, after all my wanderings, and searchings, and introspective thoughts. Maybe that is the very reason they could see it... because I have searched so long for imperfections within myself that the truth of my complete inadequacy has eluded me... glaringly obvious as it is, sitting right in front of my nose. I think these thoughts, and I trace them over several times in my mind. “Complete inadequacy”, “obvious, complete inadequacy”.
I
think of turning around. I twist my head. They are far behind me...
almost far enough to shout? To call out to them? “WHAT IS IT? WHAT
DID YOU SEE?” I consider screaming, for a second, consider running,
consider finding out. But it would be no use. I march on, slowly
rationalizing things and coming back to myself. Of course they didn't
see anything, they were just two people, the same sort of people as
me. They were talking to eachother, as friends often do, and they
maybe glanced up at me as we passed and saw some menace in my eyes.
Some judgement that maybe provoked fear in the scared corners of
their hearts as well... maybe not, but they surely weren't judging
me. I make these things up, these frantic, fretfully insecure
worryings... and as I walk down the road, I realize this, and laugh
to myself. “They were just the same as me, repeat it Taco.” I say
that to myself as I walk on, slowing down slightly and again becoming
comfortable. “Everyone is just the same as me.”
Peace,
Taco.
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