People were not perfect. And perhaps that was their strong suit? Of course what he thought didn’t matter as he was not long the master of anyone’s universe. It seemed funny to him that he lived in an area populated by millions but he almost never saw a soul? That unless it was the rush hour passing period he was only likely to see someone in a car passing him walking on foot down the street. Perhaps that was why when she burst from the alley one early Saturday morning red-eyed he was almost startled with her unceremonious exclamation. “I can’t find my car?”
She had the genes of a Latina in middle age. Certainly too old to be wandering about the night after like some overzealous errant teenager who had been caught up on a Friday night drinking spree that had ended up at some stranger’s place hung over and forgetful. To look at her as she dawdled out of the alley treads the street if was impossible to believe that she was not embarked on anything else. A wave of sentiment struck him interrupting his own stagger of self-enraptured nostalgic longing. This was after all a part of town whose street level superstructure invoked incidents long lost from childhood memory. This instantaneous apparition dispelled all that even to the point of embarrassment.
“Funny?“, he mused as he sat alone on the cold bench just over in the park around the next corner. “Odd?“, that life ever poises one on the edge of urn-winnable circumstance. He had replied something to her. Nothing snarky but certainly a bit too guarded. He had wanted to stop in that former barely bygone inset and start up a conversation to help. But he hadn’t and now he regretted it. If times were different and say it was twenty years previous, he would have. Maybe if the winds of fate we blowing in the right direction give her the opportunity of an exchange of phone numbers. Something that his common sense told him was now out of fashion as too predatory and sexist.
That night as early morning slowly rolled cumbersome towards the dawn he awoke somewhat sweaty and uncomfortable under his covers. Padding about he could recall that he had been at play with someone. A woman that in her more youthful ethereal guise reminded him of that wayward woman that he had momentarily past the previous morning. There was not much to recall as the illumination of the nightlight in the bathroom seemed to evaporate all the recent unconscious imagery from mental any possible clarity. All that was left was the overall feeling of the episode. It bespoke a playful sort of familiarity that he might have once known in post-adolescence when one’s natural urges of sensuality were refined enough by approaching adulthood to be presented to each other in a carefree way. He could recall the hollowness carved by the recent sonic booms of recent laughter and the passing ghost of a happy smiling female face.
How odd indeed that he had noticed in the long stretch of life that in certain circumstance passing strangers might unexpectedly leave some portion of their spirit with another? The inertia of the moment propelling like a spontaneous pitch it into the unconscious catcher’s mitt raised high in the air automatically by another. Sometimes the ‘ball’ was not returned when it initially missed its desired mark but was not discovered until very much later. Hopeful desire being what it was to the fickle indifference of fate he rose up from the chair and padded back to bed in hopes of the chance to pick up another lead on that strange ethereal wandering woman yet once more again.