When I step out of the building, rain gently sprinkles my face. I can smell it in the air and I take deep, greedy breaths. The wind grips my hair and sends it flying, covering my face in a golden web. I stand at the crosswalk, staring at the bright orange hand on the other side of the intersection. A drop of rain lands on my bottom lip and I flick my tongue out to taste it.
Our city isn’t like a lot of the others; it’s startlingly void of alleyways, and on most days, even the weekends, it’s quiet and empty. I often look at the clusters of short residential buildings and wonder where the hell everyone is. But, between 8:00 and 10:00 AM, in the business neighborhood, I have the pleasure of seeing the sidewalks come alive with workers–most on the casual side of business casual–headed out to get coffee or rolling into the office.
I long to be in that crowd, walking briskly in a full suit, coffee in hand, looking extremely cool and extremely busy on my way to a top-floor office. I imagine I’d work in one of the very few beautiful tall buildings. Maybe it’s a place where I have to swipe my badge on the way in and the security guy says, “good morning, ma’am,” when I arrive.
I imagine that woman, the alter of myself, managing projects and having people report to her. No one’s afraid of her because she’s kind and understanding and her team always strives to do the very best. Everyone’s voices are heard, and the end result of the work is well-known in the community and praised by critics.
But I’m not her. I shrug it off with a simple, eh, maybe someday.
When I get to my car, it’s shining in the cloud-filtered light. I notice the homeless man who was sleeping nearby when I parked has gone. I wonder briefly if I might have been a bother, rolling up with the radio blaring. But then, maybe since I cut off the large expanse of exposed space behind him, perhaps I was able to bring a sense of comfort and privacy? Mostly, I don’t know what to feel.
No one is there but me. The alley, like the city, like me, is quiet and empty. I start the car and the radio comes alive, filling the silent space. I crack the windows to pull in the crisp breeze. With the music all the way up and the smell of petrichor in the air, I can almost forget how utterly alone I am.
Method of Mancy 