Saturday, July 18, 2009
It's not really the fact that his car is partially blocking my driveway that makes me so angry. It is the way he looks at me, as if to say, "To hell with you. I will do what I please, and F you lady."
Now, I am in no way a mind reader. However, it is this perceived nonverbal message that sends me into a fury, causing me to lock the car and cross the street to the fence gate he closed behind him. Sometimes my soul forgets it lives in a little woman's body.
Everything else seems to be drowned out by the sound of my anger and the snapping of my $5 Old Navy flip flops on the pavement. One hand is still clenching the folded up toxic diaper. The other fist is tremoring. I open my fingers and smooth my denim skirt with the free hand, trying to calm myself down in a mental prayer.
"God, Why am I so full of rage right now? Please help me calm down, or this might not go well."
Prayer or not, little Loren still wants to knock the man's teeth out.
The house where the party is located is a rental, and tenants change frequently, so I do not know my neighbors. In fact I do not know a soul in that backyard as I stand in the middle of it, scoping out the rude guy who sent me over the emotional cliff. It turns out the back of his muscle shirt is right in front of me. I tap his shoulder while keeping my eyes on my parked minivan through the open gate.
"Hey, ...Excuse me. The truck. Can you move it up just a bit?" I motion with the hand containing the soiled diaper.
The truck owner's eyes widen at the sight of me. He and another man he is talking to both step back from the diaper in my hand. They look at each other for a moment, which feels like a long time to me, as my brain cools off and my body realizes I'm confronting someone assertively. The shaggy guy takes a long drag on the cigarette in his mouth and throws it to the ground at my feet. I instinctively smash it with my flip flop and hold his stare.
"Well, sure." he finally says, dragging out the "shhh" in sure like a snake.
"I appreciate it." I say through clenched teeth. Then I turn and leave, running back to my driveway where my children are waiting in the car. It takes a few moments for the truck to get moved and I wonder as I'm pulling back out of the driveway if it was worth the trouble of pursuing this man. I ask myself why I snapped into such a frenzy over the situation, and what made him agree to move the truck.
What if he had said no? That's a question my mind did not entertain as my feet marched me toward the gate. I just couldn't let his action stand. Responding to it made me feel alive, as small as the incident was.
"Yeah, but that creep could have killed you." says my father, later over dinner.
Dad is right. But I need to find out what I'm made of. I need to step out of my shell, pull the tags off myself and live a bit before I find myself in another box. I wonder if this urge makes any sense at all.
Dear Internet Traveler,
Welcome to my writer's blog, started about six years ago for fun. Over time, the writing I have posted has ranged from personal reflection, to Long Island history research, to tall tales for my own amusement, to feature articles for local newspapers. As you can see from topics listed here, I travel in many mental directions in regard to interests. Click on the tabs and labels to explore my strange mind which senses that you may be having a criss-cross day. If so, perhaps this blog will distract you. However, please note that if you tell me my blog is beautiful just to get me to advertise rhinoplasty surgery and cheap drugs from Canada in your comment, I will ask the gods to give you a tail that cannot be concealed.