A story I wrote some time ago, can't remember exactly when but it's been edited and re-written for a contest I entered with the CBC, can't say they will exactly enjoy the content but it was worth a shot. Please feel free to leave your thoughts...-Don't Walk, Beautiful-I hate crosswalks, from their stupid lines to their stupid rules. Don't walk until you're told and walk within a certain amount of time or you're toast. Don't follow these rules and you're hit with a ticket, taken to jail.a criminal for life, no more trip to Hawaii because you couldn't follow a couple of simple rules. I hate when you hit a cross walk and had a good walking pace, then all of a sudden it's over, forget about setting the 10 block walking record today, you've hit a cross walk. I hate the sounds, the beeping audible signal for the blind.how do they even know which way the robotic voice is telling them to go? I hate the awkward moment of walking by someone on the other side of the street, you don't know if you should make eye contact, smile, or pretend you see a bird in that tree behind them. Maybe they have some weird bump on their face, a burn from a car accident or they're just having a really bad fucking day and the last thing they need is some punk kid looking them in their eyes to see the years of suffering, divorce and child support they can't afford. I really hate crosswalks, they're supposed to be a traffic calming technique but really they're just the calm before the storm.Five seconds are left on the walk sign, the minimum amount of time for people to daringly run across the street and risk becoming splatter cakes, just to claim the simple prize of getting to the other side. I almost trip over a girl's foot standing next to me as we both decide whether or not to go. Looking over at her makes me feel like Adam the first time he must've laid eyes on Eve. There isn't enough time for me, not even close; I'd need her number, to hear her voice and maybe even get her name all before crossing this potential death trap. When four seconds are left it's obvious neither she nor I are going to risk it. Hell, I can't even risk saying Hi. Even after she gives me a nice look up and down, an inviting smile; almost as if she was begging for me to say something...my tongue just freezes. The last few people waiting on the corner dash across the street, barely avoiding being crunched by some cars trying to turn before the light changes. Who would have thought four thousand years on this planet would result in humans being controlled by blinking lights? With three seconds left only maniacs or people already halfway across the street already could make it. This proves she isn't a maniac because she is still standing very close and her beauty still radiates from the corner.
She has slick, stylish glasses, the kind that show she's with "it"; I never really got "it" and even if I took a course on "it" I don't think I would ever know what "it" is. She looks sparkly, clean, with blazing red hair in that way that all girls want and spend hundreds of dollars to have. She isn't wearing any make-up, which speaks volumes about her being comfortable with being totally natural. There was always something that bugged me about girls who covered their faces up with piles and layers of makeup. I much more preferred the raw emotion of a clean face, what you would look like when you died and slowly decayed, what you'd look like when you show up to heaven's door, I don't really think God would care if you were wearing mascara or not, even if it was Cover Girl. She isn't skinny, which says to me she knows how to eat a good meal, and conversely, not fat either, which tells me she knows how to not eat too many good meals. She isn't short, isn't tall, her lips look as soft as marshmallows and she's just a degree away from perfect, if I'm being completely honest. Two seconds remain on the light, and we stand there together, but not actually together. I still have about a minute and a half to find out who she is before the light said walk again, before the chaos of the crosswalk kicks back in.
She holds her hands behind her back and sways her body back and forth like a flower, one you'd see in a bush that you can't help but stop to smell, but before I could lean in to smell this beautiful flower I notice she's humming a tune. There is something familiar about it, but I can't quite put my tongue on it. How perfect. This could be the perfect opening line to at least discover what kind of music this perfect girl likes and is proud to hum in public. I think it's the Dirty Projectors. I was so self conscious I wouldn't even listen to the music in my earphones at any level above 5, scared of the reaction I might get if someone recognized a song and didn't like it. Then the light changes, and the little man that means walk pops up across the street, in the direction I have no desire to go. Everyone but us leaps forward to walk across, and once again, it's just me and her, standing, waiting, me and her. Me, with my worn out shoes, because they're my only pair, my big winter jacket, because it's freezing, and my messy hair, because I don't know how to use a brush. Maybe it's just my wishful thinking...but I could swear she keeps looking at me, in a very subtle way, her green eyes connecting with my blue eyes, split seconds at a time.
I look away from her to pinch myself on the cheek, to make sure I'm not in a dream. Maybe I crossed the street already, boarded the train and fell asleep on my way to the destination I had no desire to get to. It's not every day a beautiful girl is showing any kind of interest in me let alone standing within feet of me. Who knows when this chance would come again, I have to work up the courage to say something. My cheek is stinging from the pinch in the bitter cold, I hope she didn't see that; standing there wondering to herself what kind of guy just pinches his cheek on the corner of the street. My cheek where I had pinched is even redder now; I must look a bit like a homeless clown. I turn back to make sure she is still there, not a fable or a figment of my imagination. At that moment just like what the sun must've looked to the first human eyes her red hair hits me, her green eyes look in to mine and I am sure this is the moment. I can still see my breath on the cold winter air, but inside my jacket is the epitome of global warming.
Everything about the situation is stupid, but I never expected something as stupid as what I was about to say to ever come out of my mouth.
"You dropped a penny," I say in her direction.
She stops humming, the swaying flower comes to a halt, and she tilts her head down. There are obviously no pennies, no rocks; there is nothing but pavement and snow.
"I don't think I was carrying any pennies" she replies.
Holy Shit do I feel stupid, not since the cavemen has something so incoherent and confusing been said from one human being to another. How did I manage to make myself believe that would work? Oh well, at least I know. I know her voice sounds like a well played violin that could play inside my head all day without getting annoying and she doesn't carry pennies around, so she isn't a bum. What stupid logic. I can't believe I actually thought what I was thinking was true. I also can't believe it was ten seconds since she last said something to me, it's below freezing outside but inside my big winter jacket I feel like I'm in the Arizona Desert. The light is going to change again, she'll be gone, and I will forever just be the guy who just used pennies to try and pick her up.
"Thanks anyways", she says sweetly, a smile on her face as she gave me a soft, polite punch on the shoulder.
My pants feel lighter, my feet go numb, my head feels higher and my heart races at hummingbird speed. She is polite, cute and doesn't even care that I am such an idiot. I am blushing, but luckily, it's so cold outside she never does notice.
She shivers her face a little bit, obviously affected by the cruel, cold, crisp weather. Obviously she's trying to keep her tongue in her mouth and seal her lips tight to not freeze and get annoying chapping. But then her mouth opens, the condensation of air blows out of her mouth, and a dense cloud comes out. I'm so hypnotized by this I miss what actually happens...I think she speaks, possibly says her name or maybe something else. My head is somewhere else, I may as well be in space, I have no idea what just happened and then the cloud of warm breath disappears.
While I was over-analyzing this turn of events, I completely miss the light change, and by the time I notice she is already halfway across the street. Before I can call out, or even think about what to say if I did call out, a sudden shriek of tires fill the air. Before my eyes or ears can make sense of what was happening, the beautiful red headed girl is on the ground. There is no movement except the slow creep of blood from her head. Traffic lights no longer matter. Everyone stops; everyone is shocked. Several people pull out their cell phones to call an ambulance, including the driver of the skidding car. By the look of it, they are a little too late. The pool of blood has welled up bigger and thicker, and no one wants to get any closer, for fear the sight would make them vomit. It is kind of funny, considering only three minutes ago I was up close and personal with this beauty. Now her appearance induces the complete opposite reaction. Two minutes later the ambulance shows up with three paramedics. They quickly clear the small crowd, which includes me, from around the body. They check her wound, and try to find a pulse, but finally have to turn to us and say she's gone, in a very soft and sombre tone. As quickly as the shriek of the tires and the dull thud of flesh against metal had been heard, weeps and whines come into my hearing from all sides. No one believes that someone so young and vibrant has just died before their eyes.
"What is her name?" I say quietly. Funny enough this experience has lasted almost 5 minutes and I still didn't know, how pathetic.
The paramedic then reaches over to the bag she was carrying, the bag which I haven't even noticed before which was surprising because I had noticed every other small detail about her. The medic's gloved hand pulls out a wallet and opens it up saying "Dave Wilkinson?" Quickly, he reaches in and pulls out 3 more wallets and read out the names:
"John Rolston," "Mike Anderson," "Bill Ash" and then the one that makes my heart stop. "Oskar Ellis"
I frantically grab at my sides to feel if my wallet is there, and sure enough, it isn't. She robbed me. She was beautiful, cute, polite and innocent in looks and manner. but she was just a thief. She had stolen my heart the second I laid eyes on her, and my wallet a short time later. I am shocked, heart-broken and disappointed, but one question still swims laps through my mind, as I walk to the other side of the street, did she steal my wallet before or after I told her she had dropped the penny?
