Each weekday morning, events happen in sequence.
As my daughter and I approach the train bridge just before her school, we hear a rumbling in the distance, signifying that the 7:32 is on the way.
As we cross the bridge and look down Webster Ave, we see the attractive young couple waiting for the 91 bus, which is usually wending its way up the street. After my daughter and I say our goodbyes, 3 turbaned men round the corner headed towards the intersection. And the mother of one of Rada’s classmates, with a Dunkin Donuts coffee cup in hand, nods hello as she crosses the street.
These events happen in almost exactly the same order, day after day. It feels like I’m living my life over and over again.
And do these people notice me in the same way I notice them? When I see only 2 turbaned men, I wonder if one is sick. And if the rumble of the 7:32 isn’t heard in the distance, I check if my watch stopped.
Its bizarre.
{ 1 } Comments