three things

I say that I let these things foment, but really, it’s probably an excuse to play my game over writing. But foment they did. I hope. There is such uncertainty in these things. On days that I don’t have an idea in mind, I try to take from outside. Things I observe mostly.

I was driving my younger brother to school in the morning, I saw a man in a camouflage striped outfit, army clothes, not a knock off, army boots, the whole nine yards, I saw this man riding a motorcycle. Behind him, arms wrapped around her father, a small girl, hair flowing behind her, pink backpack on her back. The left side of her head was resting on her father’s back, she was looking around her, contentment in her face, curiosity in her gaze. My brother kept talking, the air conditioned car was cool, unnecessarily so, an un-Eminem like Eminem song (Like Home, ft. Alicia Keys, for those wondering), playing softly in the background. We drove on.

A few minutes later, amidst conversation, we’re making some joke about the school bus. Our school, I went to the same school, I’m a grown ass adult now that lives in my parents’ house, not the basement, not anymore, I upgraded from that a few months ago, but we went to the same school, and there were two years, my last two, and his first two, when we went together, on the school bus. Our school has about four buses, each for different areas. He mentions the bus conductor is a pastor. I ask him incredulously, “really?” Yeah, he was. Is. Maybe. His name wasn’t even Nazir bhai, which is what he went by. The connection was immediate. Right, because in a bus full of boys - probably all Muslim - ranging from the ages of ten to seventeen, he would have been bullied incessantly. Smart man. I learned something new today.

I was going to work after dropping him off. It’s only a ten minute drive, but it’s so peaceful. I was crossing the bridge where motorcycles come from the opposite direction. I think it’s one-way, but it is one of those places that have been used a particular way for so long that no one remembers the original recommended usage. A man drove by, a blank expression on his face, a child sitting between him and the handlebars of the bike, one sitting between him and his wife, the third behind his wife. One ceases to think of this as dangerous and callous after one sees it often enough. The kids were probably having the time of their lives. They didn’t know another life. The man probably didn’t either. Nor the wife. The motorcycle was pink. Bright pink. The children were girls. The first thought in my head was that this ludicrous color must have been much cheaper. The second, well, the girls probably liked it. I smiled.

The water canal was starting to move slowly as the winds of winter came by drowsily. The sun shone bright and high, already.