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Untimely

He drove up 5th Street every day.  Often times on Saturdays, on the blocks approaching Lehigh Avenue, young girls jumped rope on the sidewalk and sang songs.  He always enjoyed seeing them play together, hearing their innocent voices.

Today he saw people dressed in black gathered outside one of the neighborhood’s many connected row homes.  Attached to and all around a telephone pole were large and small, pink and white and brown teddy bears, dolls, drawings and paintings that only could’ve been made by children.

“No.”  He said it out loud, alone in his small pickup truck.  “Please, no.”

He pulled over to the side of the road, shut the engine.  He’d seen these around the city from time to time, teddy bear vigils, as he referred to them internally, and they always made him feel sick, upset, disgusted.  Violent crimes around the city were bad enough when they involved adults.  But kids, a little girl, he didn’t even know her and yet his heart sank.  Maybe it wasn’t murder, he thought.  Could’ve been a car accident or something else but either way, she’s gone. 

I should go inside, he told himself, pay my respects.  Everyone should stop by and pay their respects, the entire city.  Everyone should do it even though nobody can bring her back.  All the love and regrets in the world won’t bring her back.

He reached for the door handle and nearly opened it, but something stopped him, a sudden realization that he’d only be trying to make himself feel better, that nobody who’d actually known the girl would want him there.  What could he say?  “Hi, I don’t know you, but I drive past your house every day, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry for your loss.”  Too weird, he decided.  Too presumptuous. 

He wiped away the beginnings of a tear and turned the ignition.  The radio came back on and a caller argued vehemently with Jon Marks and Sean Brace for the Eagles to sign Plaxico Burress.  He drove the rest of the way to work without listening.  He just imagined the young girls he’d seen last week jumping rope on the sidewalk, singing songs.

Neurosis

Must wash hands thoroughly.  Between fingers, around nails, across palms, can’t miss a spot.  Okay, they’re clean.  How long has this towel hung here?  Should I get a new one?  No, it’s okay, recently changed it.  Must dry hands thoroughly before using lotion.  Hand lotion’s important on these cold winter days.  Okay, time to go.

No!  What’s that?  How did that happen?  What is it, dirt from boots?  I really thought I wiped them well on the mat last night, but apparently not.  Can’t leave for work with that dirt on the floor but hands are perfect right now.  No, that’s no excuse.  Need to do what’s right even if it means washing and drying and moisturizing hands all over again.  Can’t ignore the mess. . . .

Alright, the floor is clean and hands are all set and I’ll still arrive early to work.  Thank goodness for garages; without one I’d be at the carwash twice as often.  It’s a lovely day to drive.  Mr. Mozart, speak to me.

Hitting all the lights today it seems.  Who’s that at the bus stop?  Do I know her?  I swear she’s staring straight at me!  Can she see the blemish on my cheek?  No, she can’t see my left side from that angle.  Don’t make eye contact.  Will this light ever turn green? 

Oh you couldn’t help yourself, could you?  Had to look her way again and still she stares.  Does she know me?  What if she pulls a gun from inside her jacket and shoots me?  I’m defenseless!  Ah, green light, thank goodness.

It’s okay.  Mozart, perfection.  At least these red lights prolong our time together this morning.  But wait, who’s that man in the car next to me?  Why did he turn to look in this direction?  He nodded!  It’s okay, just nod back.  He’s smiling!  Is that grin some clever ruse?  He could bump me off the road!  Green light, let him go first.  Ah, it’s okay, he’s driving along now.  Hey, who’s honking?  Oh, the car behind me, maybe they’re working together!  The first one knew his nod would stall me just as this one knew his honk would rush me. . . .

No, don’t be silly, it’s okay.  Just enjoy the music and get to work.  No more distractions.

But wait, who’s that crossing the street?