PART189 a down pour


Sunday, 4th, August, 2010. Although I have
had most of the week off already on bogus sick leave, today is officially my
day off. As I went down stairs from our apartment and emerged into the
community area I noticed that the massive Jake fruit has been harvested from
the tall tree. Our rescued bamboo, which initially belonged to Lindsey and Kyle
then we planted in a flower bed just outside our flat was doing well. Still a
bit lopsided but green none the less. I walked past the small fruit stall and
down the narrow ally and out onto the main road outside. A woman with a manual sewing
machine in the blazing heat was repairing a white shirt. A woman stood near bye
chatting to the sewer. I assume it was her husband’s shirt. Next to her was a
shoe repairer. A young woman was showing a pair or red high heels shoes with
the strap broken. The tanned man looked closely at the break and inspected the
sole of the shoe.

 

I crossed the cross roads which up to a few
months ago had no light system, not that now it does, does it make a blind bit
of difference. Motor bikes whiz past threw red, green and amber alike and cars
steal round the edges near the pavement as if the side of the road does not
apply to the laws of the lights. I cross warily. Looking in all direction for
danger. I reach the other side unscathed and wait for the number 34 bus. I
begin to perspire. 5 minutes later the bus arrives. I lunge for the bus and get
in front of the mass of commuters all dashing. I slip one yuan into the money
slot and the bus driver impatiently grumbles for everyone to hurry up. I sit
down in my favorite seat. Middle of the bus facing forwards, plenty of leg room.
3 school girls at the back look at me. They are tanned and skinny with
neglected teeth which are riddled with black and brown spots. I turn away and
watch the rest of the passengers come on. An elderly woman who looks like a
walnut slowly pulls herself on the platform and shows her pensioners card
dropping 1 mao into the money slot. Immediately the young man sitting next to
the driver gets up and walks away from his seat. The old woman shouts “you sit”
to the uprooted young man. He half turns and says “no you sit”.

 

We drive on, the air conditioning cooling
me now, the sweat turning icy cold on my neck. I wipe it off and turn the fan
away from me. I jolt forwards as the bus breaks hard narrowly missing a couple
of young girls on an electric moped. We stop and start from traffic and bus stops
and I arrive at my stop. As I alight I am greeted with a thick wall of hot air.
I walk briskly to the coffee shop. Two girls in long red dresses wait outside a
Si chuan restaurant to welcome customers. I wake up suddenly as a jeep beeps
loudly behind me on the pavement and I side step out of the way as he parts the
pedestrians. I reach the coffee shop lightly sweating. I take the escalator up
to the second floor and watch myself in the mirror on the wall. I look red and
I need to shave. I am greeted by a short waitress who after a month of coming
her gives the slightest recognition of knowing me. I am seated at a table, I
open my lap top and surf the internet. Hail a waitress and ask for a beer in
Mandarin. She gives me a scrunched up face and no response. I repeat, knowing I
am saying it right. I mimic the shape of a beer and say beer in mandarin. Still
no response. I open the menu and show her the picture. She half nods and walks
away slowly like someone had asked her a riddle but hasn’t revealed the answer.

 

I leave the coffee shop and come out to see
the air is thick with fast rain. The street is hard to see and the road is
flooded. I wait for a moment with the other people by the door then I dash out
into the down pour, soaked in a matter of seconds I gladly accept it and walk
toward the opposite bus stop. I leap into the road and loose my foot up to the shin
in water. Cars slowly drive past and I wait for a gap to cross. I run under the
bus shelter and a group of wiry young men snigger at my wetness. I stare at
them until they become uncomfortable and look away. A short man crossing the
road shouts loudly as he realized how deep the water is. An overflowing drain noticeably
surges out just in front of me. A woman screams as she gets of the bus and gets
wet.

 

I fly onto the bus and am laughed at by 2
girls who continue to be entertained when people get on and off the bus. I join
in. When I get home Sarah washes my cloths and I have a shower

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “PART189 a down pour

  1. I think you mean the difference between us and those plebs, oh fellow scriber, ha ha. Personaly I think the only differance is that writers can be botherd to put it down on paper(or blog). The rest is just lost to forgetfulness. I cannot imagen the amout of good ideas and stories, carlessly forgotten and unrecorded. And if paying attendion is a prerequisit of being a writer then I think I dont qualify.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s