Namaste

Jeff’s forehead, or third eye, as the yoga instructor would call it, kissed the floor, feeling the steady vibrations from the unit below, partying. Again. Still. Into the morning. Breathe in for four, three, two, one. Bass thumped his forehead. Hold for four, three, two, one. The rhythm of the beat sped up his breath count, throwing it off. Breathe out for four, three, three, three, two, one. He escaped from child’s pose. Namaste.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” He said, “how about breakfast at the park?” 

“Sounds great,” Lisa said. 

“I’ll swing by the market and pick up a few things. You grab us some coffee and I’ll meet you there?” 

“Perfect,” she kissed him on the cheek, “I’ll see you soon.” Jeff grabbed his helmet and backpack and headed downstairs. The music echoed louder in the empty hallway. Rent wasn’t cheap and he didn’t pay this much to live above a rave, that’s for sure. 

He was unlocking his bike from the railing when Rachel, one of the tenants below him in unit #101 stumbled through the doorway. She fumbled a lighter from her purse and lit a cigarette dangling from her lips. She took a long drag. 

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” He seemed to startle her, his voice an intrusion into her drug and alcohol induced haze. He didn’t care. “They say it might rain later, but I don’t know, the skies are looking pretty clear.” 

“Yeah, sure. ” she took another drag, not looking up. “It’s fine.” 

“Look, I don’t mean to be a jerk, but the walls here are paper thin and your music is really loud in our apartment.”

“Okay.”

Jeff paused, waiting a moment for more, but nothing came. “I know you have a basement, at least a couple rooms, in your apartment. Would you be able to take your parties down there? That should help.”

“Dude, just chill.” She said.

“I’m just asking,” he said, “ if you wouldn’t mind dialing it back a little bit. It makes it hard to sleep and Amber’s got her little one now, remember? I’m sure she’d appreciate it too, she’s probably up all night from the baby as it is.” 

Rachel looked up, her dilated eyes meeting his for the first time.

“If she’s already up all night what does it matter to her?” She stamped out her half-smoked cigarette and walked inside without saying another word, letting the door slam behind her. 

The city typically hummed with activity by seven on a Saturday, but today traffic was light. Jeff crested the hill on 29th Street and started to descend, the autumn air giving him goosebumps as crispy brown leaves crackled under his tires. He caught the red light at Market Street. He never could catch that light, no matter how fast he tried to ride. He waited, watching a boy, no more than five years old, walking between his parents, each holding a coffee cup in one hand and the boy’s hand in their other, cross Market. The boy would wait for them to step, then lift his feet and his parents would swing him forward. He would land hard, crunching the leaves underfoot, and repeat the routine again with each step. The light turned green and Jeff smiled at the family as he turned left and they disappeared behind him.

He quickly filled his pack with fruit and snacks at the market and returned to the parking garage where he had locked up his bike. He followed the exit signs, turning the final corner before the exit ramp directly into the beam of an oncoming SUV’s headlights. The driver braked hard. The car's tires squealed. Jeff leaned into his turn, sharpening it as he slowed, hardly missing the driver’s side mirror by more than a couple of inches. The driver had rolled down the window and looked back toward Jeff. 

“Hey buddy, you gotta be careful. You’re heading the wrong way.” Jeff pointed at the DO NOT ENTER sign to the driver’s right and the WRONG WAY message painted on the support beams. “If you turn around, you’ll see the signs for parking and the exit.”

“Dude, just chill. Look around,” the driver motioned his hand, holding a phone, in front of him at the nearly empty garage, “no one’s even here.” 

“I’m here. You almost hit me.”

“You just worry about yourself.” The driver put the car back in gear and continued on his path, the wrong way, through the garage. 

When Jeff emerged from the underground garage, he found the city much different than he left it just a few minutes ago. The sun was higher in the sky. Runners and walkers filled the sidewalks and cars lined the roadways. He used the bicycle lane to cruise past a line of cars stopped at a red light. Each face peered down, glowing, preoccupied with text messages and emails and notifications and anything but the road in front of them. What is it with people? That guy in the garage didn’t even seem to care if he would have hit him. Jeff’s -- or anyone else’s for that matter -- well being didn’t even register with him. Why couldn’t he just follow the signs? It’s not that hard, it would have taken fifteen, maybe thirty seconds, longer to just go the correct way. Did he think the rules didn’t apply to him? That he was special? 

The ride to the park was all uphill and Jeff looked like he had completed a stage of the Tour de France by the time took the road leading into the park, nodding and smiling as he passed a group of runners, wiping sweat from his eyes. He locked his bike and waited for an opening to cross the path that circled the park. The local marathon was in two weeks, so runners were getting in their last long training run before resting up for the big day. Some ran alone, headphones plugged in, escaping into music or an audiobook, some ran in pairs, chatting, their words scattered between labored breaths. 

Jeff found Lisa on their picnic blanket, lying on her stomach reading a paperback, taking advantage of the shade of a small copse of trees not far from the pond. Robins and sparrows and finches sang, their calls occasionally interrupted by children shouting or dogs barking. Jeff sat next to her and unloaded his pack, lining up oranges and apples and berries and grapes and granola and dark chocolate and yogurt: enough food for an entire week’s worth of breakfasts. 

They ate and they talked. Near the pond, an elderly woman and a young girl fed bread to some ducks. Jeff watched as a border collie, or some type of herding breed dog, broke into the gaggle which erupted with quacks and tufts of feathers as the ducks scattered and flew to safety. The dog then leapt into the pond, swam aimlessly, and climbed from the brown water a few moments later. The owner followed behind, hands tucked into his pockets and earphones plugged his ears, paying no mind to his dog. These damn people living in their own damn fantasy worlds don’t give a damn about anyone but themselves. They think eating organic food and wearing sustainable clothing makes them a good person, slapping a “Coexist” sticker on their car and voting for higher taxes on the rich, like they’re serving some higher purpose, some calling, but they forget about treating the people around them with the slightest bit of respect. Saving the environment doesn’t mean shit if you can’t just be a decent person to those around you. What the hell is the matter with this guy? There is an off-leash area right near the entrance, did he just not notice? Or did he just not care? The selfish prick too self-absorbed in his own world of … 

Having caught its breath, the dog bolted from the shore in the direction of a young man and woman on a bench, laughing, drinking coffee, a yorkie sitting at their feet munching on a twig. The couple didn’t notice the dog until it was just a few feet away and leapt towards theirs, who yelped and scurried as far as it could until it was brought to an abrupt stop at end of its leash. The couple screamed and kicked at the intruder. The yorkie cried, high-pitched screeching yelps and whines. The man had quickened his pace from an amble to a stroll, content to wrangle up his dog whenever he got around to it. 

“Hey, you gotta keep your dog on a leash over here! The off-leash park is over there.” The man had scooped up his yorkie and tried to point while evading the loose dog’s attempts to reach it. 

“Relax, it’s fine. He’s friendly.” The selfish prick said. 

“No, it’s not fine. Our dog is terrified. The off-leash area is by the entrance, you can’t miss the signs. Take it over there.” 

“Dude, just chill.” The selfish prick said, “Roy, come.” He kept walking, his dog now joining him at the command.

Jeff picked up an orange. He inspected it, tossed it up and down, and grabbed the other, as if to compare the two. He then picked up the apple and walked toward the selfish prick. He thought about Rachel, how she had completely ignored him when he asked for her to be a little quieter. He thought about the driver in the parking garage, going the wrong way, almost hitting him, oblivious to anyone else in the world. He thought about little league and his years as a pitcher. He had a good arm. His coach had told him so. He thought about his two-seam fastball as he took that grip on the orange -- if only it had seams -- and wound up. 

The orange hit squarely in between the selfish prick’s shoulder blades. Jeff took the apple in his right hand.

“They were chill.” Jeff threw the apple. 

“Seriously, what the --” the apple struck the selfish prick in the jaw. 

“It’s not just you here. Think about the other people. Think about someone other than yourself. Get your dog on a leash or get it out of here.” Jeff moved his final orange from his left to his right hand as he continued towards the selfish prick. A crowd had gathered at this point, watching. Flashing the finger, the selfish prick grabbed his dog by the collar -- he apparently hadn’t even brought a leash with him -- and left the park. 

Jeff ignored the crowd and gathered his damaged fruit, dropping it in the trash bin as he walked back to Lisa. She stared at him, mouth open, as he sat down, without saying a word, and peeled the remaining orange. He closed his eyes. Breathe in for four, three, two, one.