Judy Hamilton
May 2nd, 2010, 09:53 AM
I begin this tread at this time to say “let not your heart be troubled and please restrain from jumping ahead to read the end of this story. I am not suicidal. I value life. So let’s carry on! “
I dial 911 on my cell phone. Quickly, before the operator answers I hang up and place the phone my jacket pocket. Now my cell phone is practically on speed dial. I am ready for the emergency my friend fears would surely happen. I park my car and get out; I close the door and look north, south, east and west. The coast is clear. Glancing over my shoulder I stand erect and quickly walk around the tall shrubbery shielding my car.
My destination is a traffic corner on Friars Road near Fashion Valley. At this point I have not committed to actually going through with this inane idea. I punch the button to allow pedestrian travel to cross Friars Road. The traffic sign signals with a white hand beckoning me to take a step! I take a deep breath and walk as far as the median of the intersection. My right hand gravitates to the pocket of my jacket. My fingers fold tightly over my cell phone. Self talk interrupts my thoughts with a brief moment of sanity, “there is still time to turn around and walk back to the security of your car Judy.” Ignoring the conversation in my head I walk toward the intersection.
OK I am now standing on this narrow median covered with squatty weeds and a spattering of cigarette butts. Cars go by and the number 41 Metro bus makes a left turn. I know the bus will not stop for me, as I am for certain not at a bus stop. Will the bus driver remember my face or recall seeing me at all? Is he paying attention? Is anyone paying attention?
Is it better to stand still? While facing the oncoming evening traffic, I slowly edge backwards. For my safety I should look down to my feet as walking backwards is dangerous on this narrow median. Here comes the rational self talk voice, “Watch your step Judy or you will fall under the wheels of the oncoming traffic!” I know lifesaving advice is beaming from my head, yet my eyes are locked on the faces of the drivers whizzing past me.
If I do not look up will this make a difference? Should I make eye contact with the drivers? What if he/she swerves and out of control wheels jump the curb? There is so little space protecting me from the oncoming cars. This is not what I want to happen. What do I want anyway?
What am I doing in the middle of a busy street during the chaotic evening traffic? My thoughts run wild. “God please don’t let my daughter or son-in-law drive by right now! Be still my racing heart! I speak aloud to thin air,“ remember this is why you chose Fashion Valley at 6:30 PM, so no one who knows you will witness what is about to happen. It is cold this evening. Maybe the exhaust of passing cars is the reason I am sweating. Or is my cold sweat due to anxiety centered on the cardboard I slowly pull out from under my jacket?
I am on a mission, an assignment from Sue, my innovative writing instructor, to do something I have never done before and then write about it. Does Sue know her assignment has potential to hurl me into a place and space where the essence of who I am is threatened? Can I not write about numerous “been-there-done-that” episodes in my life? Nope! Sue is explicit in her directive. No archives.
This afternoon, just before leaving my apartment I penned a simple message on a piece of cardboard. A message with the energy to throw me into an unknown world; a cold place with raw ragged edges that wants to tear at not only my clothes and skin, but sear my soul as well.
I must be invisible, else how can drivers making a left turn from Friars Rd onto Fashion Valley Rd. whiz by in high gear and not even look at me? The drivers are wearing blinders. Yes! Wearing blinders. I answer my own question. Two out of thirty drivers have paused to connect with a female senior citizen holding a cardboard message standing on the median in the middle of the street. If someone takes time to glance my way, would they ask themselves; am I malnourished? When did I last eat a full meal? If I do not return tomorrow or the next day to this intersection of busy city life, will someone contact my family? Do I have a family? It is cold. Will I sleep in a shelter tonight or on the street? Lyrics to a song by Neil Young cloud my thoughts,
City desert makes me feel so cold, it’s got so many people but it has no soul.
I dial 911 on my cell phone. Quickly, before the operator answers I hang up and place the phone my jacket pocket. Now my cell phone is practically on speed dial. I am ready for the emergency my friend fears would surely happen. I park my car and get out; I close the door and look north, south, east and west. The coast is clear. Glancing over my shoulder I stand erect and quickly walk around the tall shrubbery shielding my car.
My destination is a traffic corner on Friars Road near Fashion Valley. At this point I have not committed to actually going through with this inane idea. I punch the button to allow pedestrian travel to cross Friars Road. The traffic sign signals with a white hand beckoning me to take a step! I take a deep breath and walk as far as the median of the intersection. My right hand gravitates to the pocket of my jacket. My fingers fold tightly over my cell phone. Self talk interrupts my thoughts with a brief moment of sanity, “there is still time to turn around and walk back to the security of your car Judy.” Ignoring the conversation in my head I walk toward the intersection.
OK I am now standing on this narrow median covered with squatty weeds and a spattering of cigarette butts. Cars go by and the number 41 Metro bus makes a left turn. I know the bus will not stop for me, as I am for certain not at a bus stop. Will the bus driver remember my face or recall seeing me at all? Is he paying attention? Is anyone paying attention?
Is it better to stand still? While facing the oncoming evening traffic, I slowly edge backwards. For my safety I should look down to my feet as walking backwards is dangerous on this narrow median. Here comes the rational self talk voice, “Watch your step Judy or you will fall under the wheels of the oncoming traffic!” I know lifesaving advice is beaming from my head, yet my eyes are locked on the faces of the drivers whizzing past me.
If I do not look up will this make a difference? Should I make eye contact with the drivers? What if he/she swerves and out of control wheels jump the curb? There is so little space protecting me from the oncoming cars. This is not what I want to happen. What do I want anyway?
What am I doing in the middle of a busy street during the chaotic evening traffic? My thoughts run wild. “God please don’t let my daughter or son-in-law drive by right now! Be still my racing heart! I speak aloud to thin air,“ remember this is why you chose Fashion Valley at 6:30 PM, so no one who knows you will witness what is about to happen. It is cold this evening. Maybe the exhaust of passing cars is the reason I am sweating. Or is my cold sweat due to anxiety centered on the cardboard I slowly pull out from under my jacket?
I am on a mission, an assignment from Sue, my innovative writing instructor, to do something I have never done before and then write about it. Does Sue know her assignment has potential to hurl me into a place and space where the essence of who I am is threatened? Can I not write about numerous “been-there-done-that” episodes in my life? Nope! Sue is explicit in her directive. No archives.
This afternoon, just before leaving my apartment I penned a simple message on a piece of cardboard. A message with the energy to throw me into an unknown world; a cold place with raw ragged edges that wants to tear at not only my clothes and skin, but sear my soul as well.
I must be invisible, else how can drivers making a left turn from Friars Rd onto Fashion Valley Rd. whiz by in high gear and not even look at me? The drivers are wearing blinders. Yes! Wearing blinders. I answer my own question. Two out of thirty drivers have paused to connect with a female senior citizen holding a cardboard message standing on the median in the middle of the street. If someone takes time to glance my way, would they ask themselves; am I malnourished? When did I last eat a full meal? If I do not return tomorrow or the next day to this intersection of busy city life, will someone contact my family? Do I have a family? It is cold. Will I sleep in a shelter tonight or on the street? Lyrics to a song by Neil Young cloud my thoughts,
City desert makes me feel so cold, it’s got so many people but it has no soul.