GREEN MAN
I stopped at the lights early one moody morning. An empty bus meandered round the bend as I pushed the button and waited for the green man to tell me when it was safe to cross. Whilst waiting safely on the pavement I decided against reading my paper. I never read in the street, being all too familiar with the consequences and, anyway, I find that it is good to have something to look forward to on the long train journey to work. Not that the train is necessarily the proper environment for reading either. I learnt long ago that standing up for forty five minutes whilst being elbowed and having one’s hair disturbed by heavy breathing, with people everywhere, all seemingly out of breath, always out of shape, all standing up, closely confined, sneezing and sweating even on the coldest days, presents a major challenge even to a skilled reader. For these reasons I would never dream of reading a book on a train. For me, the state of meditation required in order to fully appreciate a book is unachievable in a public environment. I need silence to lock down certain senses to appreciate the intricacy of plot, each nuance of language. And did I mention time? Time is even more important than silence. I must at least perceive that there will be an abundance of undisturbed time following the act of reading, so as to completely savour the experience.
By now two new people, who I have never seen in the village before, were waiting with me, disturbing my thought processes. I nodded towards the road, the gesture intended to mean, “Good morning,” without being overly familiar. I avoided looking directly at either of them as the rain fell, or rather swirled, cheating gravity and frosting my cheeks. Then, as I continued waiting I heard the unmistakable din of someone’s headphones. Forgetting myself, as other strangers arrived to wait behind me, I clamped my hands over my ears, determined not to be deafened even if my conduct caused offence. But it was useless, the tinny racket was everywhere. We all did what we could to ignore it, but my will power is not what it was and I pressed my hands against my ears so hard that I almost crushed my own skull.
And now, on top of everything I had a headache as the rain fell harder, striking the pavement so ferociously that it soaked my ankles and seeped through my shoes. I cursed myself for forgetting my coat for the third day running and cursed the rain for ruining my attractive business shoes; it was really coming down now and I began to imagine my train leaving me behind, leaving me to explain my late arrival to the new supervisor who had taken an instant dislike to me. As I was closest to the road I checked the lights, but it was not yet safe and so I continued to wait.
A while later, as about a dozen of us waited together, a most unexpected thing happened. A man elected not to join us at the crossing light, which prompted many concerned eyebrows, and some tuts were just audible over tinny din and through my freezing hands as, in an act of personal recklessness, he crossed the road even though he was nowhere near the crossing point. His face was obscured by the darkness and a large brolly. Although he probably wore a suit under his overcoat it looked to me (judging by the way he stamped his feet and hunched his shoulders) as though he was handy with his fists.
My head was killing me. I could see my supervisor’s face, her superior demeanour; she would already be there, waiting to catch me out, to file the report with personnel. I might have been perspiring at these thoughts when I was nudged from behind. I was determined not to look round and concentrated on blocking out the constant noise. But it was hopeless. Something was coughing down the back of my neck, and my nostrils flared at the smell of sour beer. I was blocked to my left and to my right, and ahead was the road. The signal had yet to change. I was trapped. I had to stand and take it. By now my head was spinning, aching and raised to the sky as my glasses afforded my eyes scant protection from the needle rain.
The booze on the air was indeed powerful, but no match for what happened next. Suddenly, from God knows where, a plume of cigarette smoke circled me, making directly for my lungs. This was indeed a low point. I was rendered helpless, so much so that I thought very seriously about making a scene. I was close to blacking out, but no longer cared. And we all waited.
Eventually, over the coughs, tinny dins and thick smoke I heard the electronic beeping and opened my eyes. There it was, the green man signalling a safe passage across the road. I uncovered my ears and tried to smooth some of the water from my skirt before continuing on my way.
