He pulls on his motorcycle helmet and sunglasses. He checks the fuel tank. Its probably half full of unleaded petrol. He starts the beast which immediately burbles to life. Its a howling beast. His customer climbs on the back. Its a lady. Apart from a sleeveless top and sunglasses, she has nothing to guarantee her safety. Only prayer. The seat is narrow, hard and unyielding but that doesn’t seem to bother her. She has greater concerns. A rubber band to hold her weave in the wind is put in place.
He lets out the hydraulic clutch and the beast moves forward. The power is there and it’s immediate. The road is empty. Its a dusty road. Not designed for this particular beast. Its tires shake her to the bone as the hit bumps.
“Faster” she insists as she reads a message off her phone without bothering to hold on to the bike. He takes it to mean “risk everything”. Her urges the beast forward. It howls louder.
She is close to her destination. Her anxiety heightens by the minute. Anxiety grabs control from caution and good judgment. She is rushing to a job interview in a leafy suburb. A leafy suburb yet to carpet its roads. A quiet leafy suburb with fresh air. The motorcycle’s howling and fumes are intruding the suburb’s tranquility.
Thoughts in her mind are disrupted as the front wheel hits a rock. For a quick moment man, lady, weave and machine are flying in the air. They come down crashing in a testicle-crashing smash. Good thing she doesn’t hang…..
She is driving on the dusty road in the leafy suburb. She is driving to work. It is between 7:30 and 9:00 in the morning. The dew has not let go off the grass. Chinese constructors are about to begin work on the road. Their tracks are parked by the roadside. They are drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups. She doesn’t recognize the label on the cups but it doesn’t bother her. For some reason unknown to her most are waving at her. She doesn’t wave back.
She is driving a Toyota Carina. On the radio Daughtry are singing their hearts out. Its a breakfast show, probably Capital FM. She finds it tiring to drive in heels, she has placed them behind her seat alongside her leather handbag.. Since she has an important gala to attend tonight, she has a little black dress in the trunk, carefully folded in a small chest. On the passenger seat are her two phones, a make up kit- that she doesn’t leave behind- a copy of true Love Magazine and chewing gum. On her wrist, she feels the watch is a little to tight. Maybe she is putting on weight, she has been too busy to attend the gym. Next to her watch is a hair band to hold her hair(weave) in place. The lightness is a little uncomfortable but she loosen it when she gets to the office. She notices her sunglasses under the passenger seat. They must have dropped by mistake. Since they are safe in a Bvlgari casing she will pick them up later.
As she pulls up to the gate she remembers that as she left home in a hurry she forgot to carry some fresh orange juice. She always has fresh orange juice for breakfast when she arrives in the office. She will have to take coffee in the office..
she smiles at the guard as she replies to his greeting. She notices that he has a teardrop tattoo on his cheek. He also has a fancy watch. Probably Philip Persio. Not bad, she thinks as she drives through.
As she locks her car, the tattooed guard guard bangs a wooden door………
A bang on the door brings her back to consciousness. She was having a good dream. Somebody just left the room. She is in a room with creamy or white walls. She can not tell the difference. It smells strange, like a hospital.
She notices a plastered foot slightly suspended above her. After a moment she realizes its her foot. Most of her body parts are sore. An itch on her left arm cannot be scratched since the whole arm is covered with a tight cream bandage. Her weave is still in place, so is the rubber band. Faithful partners between thick and thin. A cracking headache reminds her of its presence every time she moves her head. Beside her is a cellphone which she registers as hers. Her body is too heavy to reach it.
In the midst of her agony an confusion a wooden door to her right opens. A man creeps in fearfully. Creeping as if wary to disturb her. She recalls the stranger. It is him who ‘hid’ his face with a helmet sunglasses as they were haggling.
He slowly walks towards her, sympathy and apology written all over his face. But something in his eyes says that he is relived. He has seen worse before in his life. He escaped unscathed. Not even a scratch. The beast is resting outside, slightly dented. Its fuel tank probably still half full.
He recounts to her the preceding events. He goes through them slowly allowing her to ask questions. Her memory slowly comes back to her. Then it hits her. Her desperation for a job caused her to throw caution to the wind. Desperation took control from good judgment and caution. Nothing else mattered other than the job. Not even her life. She is just another statistic of road accidents and incidents. Most of us are no better than her. Nothing matters more than our current engagements; job, meetings, deadlines, parties. We throw caution to the wind. We end up as statistcs. At times some are lucky when the guy with a teardrop tattoo bangs the door and they get back to consciousness. Other are not as lucky. They sleep forever.
soundtrack: take a walk– passion pit