polka dots and pidgin Englishpublished: 2012-04-27
Early morning work day. It’s raining damn hard. We bicycles wait at a traffic light. One tends to pull the chin down when it rains, hide the face. Not so for the two people in front of me. He and she. He has small dreads, a muscular ass and legs. He casually leans on one leg, waiting for the light to turn green and looking at her, talking, listening, unaffected by rain. Intently. She wears a polkadot rain coat. The hood is pulled over her head, I can’t make out anything of her except that she is tall and skinny, she wears sneakers. He leans in and kisses her. It is a loving kiss. She doesn’t turn her head but her whole body twitches in excitement.
They must have made love, is what I think. Where are they heading now? Then I catch myself thinking: look at him, a true macho. His boxer shorts stick out from above his jeans. He looks kind of old. Fourty five maybe? Does the poor girl realize what she’s getting herself into?
They bike fast. I bike faster. I want to see her face. In passing I see her rozy red cheeks, her face is flushed and elated. Blond hair falls over her eyes. She doesn’t have a single wrinkle. She looks like she’s about to giggle but is keeping herself from doing so.
I leave them behind me, turn a corner, pick up some bread, turn another corner. Now, he bikes towards me. He has dropped the girl off somewhere, perhaps her home? He is soaking wet but his face still isn’t turned down. It’s lifted up, towards life’s opportunities. When he sees me he raises his eyebrows in appreciation. He whistles. He turns and comes after me: where am I going? He asks in pidgin English. And maybe we could have a coffee. His treat. He likes me, he says. I am very, very beautiful.