These Daydreams of Mine

It is 1:00 – lunch time. I turn off the fan I leave on my desk and grab my essentials; a sandwich, my mp3 player, my cellphone. Normally I would grab my shades, but I left them in my car. I’ve spent the day punching in social security numbers into archaic software and answering the same questions over the phone, so I am basically on autopilot. If I were any more on autopilot right now my brain would have literally vacated my skull, leaving behind a little sign that reads “On Holiday,” in bold Papyrus.

I put the little ear buds in and try to drown out the sounds of the traffic and the populous with a torrent of record scratches and thumping bass. It works. I look around campus for bunnies in the grass. They are very cute. I clutch my sandwich in one hand while the other hangs ever close to the “next” button on my mp3 player, in case the random play list throws a stinker at me.

I cross the bridge over the Charles River as the breeze teases me with the idea that I might cool off. While waiting for traffic to stop I hit “next” a few times until something with ample bass plays. I begin to cross the street when – well what if? – a car did not see the red light in time and could not stop. A woman driving a black SUV would come to a screeching halt so as not to kill me, but the bumper would hit my knees, knocking my legs out from underneath me and I would fall on the hot hood of the car. I would be furious. She would be a college aged, in a panic, asking me if I am “okay” over and over. I am too angry to do anything but scream at her. My back is throbbing and I throw my sandwich in her face. She continues asking me if I am okay with bits of lettuce in her hair, all I can do is limp off. I sit down, knowing full well my back won’t allow me to get back up for some time, and I call my office and tell my coworker that

“I am not coming back to work, I was hit by a car, see you later.”

Or not.