“Excuse me,” He said shouting through the passenger window to reach me on the sidewalk.
I’m still young-ish. I intend to be young-at-heart forever, but as of yet, I’ve experienced 27 years on earth, (at least in this life; ain’t no telling how long the other lives were. ). What I can tell you is that no good comes when a man pulls his car up to yell something at you while he’s driving. Ever. This is not a theory. This is law. Universal law. It existed before you got here, and it will be in operation after you’re gone.
I promise you.
“I just find you mad sexy,” he confessed from his SUV; an older model in aqua blue.
No amount of flattery is worth my safety, so I thanked him and kept walking. I’m not sure what I thanked him for, exactly. Thank you for finding me sexy? I think my gratitude was really more of a punctuation mark than an addition to our dialog. It could act in place of a period, because I was certainly done there. It could have also been a question mark, because I sure as hell was confused.
“Wait, wait, where are you going?” he asked, letting his car pace with my long and lazy stride. I didn’t answer because:
1- I don’t know where I’m going. The walks are a bit more about journey and less about destination. I don’t think he wants my ‘mindfulness’ answer.
And 2- I don’t have to answer you. Let me walk.
…I fucked up when I looked at the driver. I tend to fuck up anytime I recognize people as people. Empathy is nice but it’s also inconvenient. You stop seeing people as they appear and search for who they are; sometimes making up backstories to feed your curiosities – It’s terrible.
He was handsome, brown, and tattooed on his sleeveless arms. A small piercing decorated his nose. Gold stud with a golden stud. His eyes were round and large, inviting, honest, and too innocent for a guy that picks up men by hollering at them from a moving vehicle.
Something about him was both tough and boyish. Let’s say we weren’t grown men in the middle of June, and instead we were six and on a playground. He’d be the type to kiss you outta nowhere and lie about it if his friends asked, but still watch you with longing.
….I fucked up when I wondered what his sex would be like. Yes, we have the ‘street smart meets booksmart’ porno-trope thing going on, obviously. But it didn’t take me even half a second to imagine a little deeper.
He is brave enough to pull up and make an entire conversation. I’m brave enough to not respond if I don’t feel inclined to, (hint: I didn’t). Our dual-confidences could be interesting, sharing power with one another, aching, begging, taking turns, turning a man back into a boy.
You’ve got to be careful who you call out to on the street. You have no idea what runs through their head and with one bad move you can find yourself becoming the prey when you thought you were the predator.
I laughed, to myself. Not because of him, he wasn’t funny. But because of me, and he has no idea that in just a few footsteps I’ve calculated ways to ruin him.
He asks me for my name.
He isn’t ready for it.
And now there is a line of confused cars behind him.
I tell him to have a nice day.