Black Cat Moments

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I did not understand her frightful urgency towards me.  Every scene in my mind’s eye unveiled episodic shifts connecting hurriedly and jerkily. Everything about her was round–her arms, belly, legs, and face.  She wore a dark blue uniform with a bright lime-colored crossing guard safety vest over it.  Only she held up no sign.  She pushed out her blubbery arms and waved maniacally at me.  It was her bulging wide arms hysterically stretching outwardly, with quick rhythmic pulses motioning Stop!, that drew me closer to her signal. 

I did not understand her danger signal towards me.  Her pink face became my next distraction. Suddenly, the silver metal whistle, the lollipop lady blew furiously, caused a pinch in time. The only visible angle now had been the cork ball’s zoom shot. That bouncing frenzied cork ball kept rising, rising out from its dark chamber.   The louder she blew into the whistle, the more the cork ball grew the desire to burst out and escape the dark chamber. Her puffed out cheeks had inflated like two small red rubber balloons, one on either side. Her pressed lips squeezed morality so tightly around the whistle’s wind way, it rushed an emergency within my unsettled heart.

I needed to cross the street and make it to that opposite sidewalk. I saw him standing on the corner. There were no cars in traffic for her to direct, no children to help cross over to safety; yet, the overweight lollipop lady kept blocking me. Her wild body took center stage. I ran with urgency, but I heard no whistle’s sound blown. I watched my legs galloping nervously in place, towards him, but I could not reach him. The more I ran towards him, the further away the crosswalk would draw back like a dolly zoom, dragging me away from ever meeting him. It was all fruitlessly becoming one tinted silent movie. I still could not hear her thundering whistle, yet the cork ball jumped up and down loudly . The cork ball never settled back into its slotted, empty chamber. The lollipop lady, with her out-stretched arms, froze in space. Only the cork ball, in its mid-air turbulence, remained active and visible to me, to him.

The dark chamber was always his way. On the opposite side of our crosswalk, still, he stood detached, yet absorbed by the particulars. His hands, securely pocketed in his faded denim jeans, harmoniously matched his steady, cold eyes, the ones he kept glued to what he had dismissively judged as nothing more than my chewing the scenery. He was calm, patient, and watchful. He was also profoundly unmoved by my heart’s pouring out as it tried to pound onto his side of the pavement. I knew he was my soul mate–a witness. We met here for the first time, in one of our many playground hallucinations, always telepathically in touch. On that blue day, the winds danced violently against a few heavily shaded leaves whirling around on the tall forest trees. My heart had been that cork ball trapped in his dark chamber. The lollipop lady tried to warn me.