The street is too busy. There are too many people. Too many noises and smells. My heart feels like it’ll leap out of my chest from nerves. I need some peace and quiet, a place where I can think. I turn into the first alleyway that I can find, and lean against the cold, slightly damp, wall. I breathe heavily, not from exercise or heat, but from the world around me.
After my breathing calms for a moment, my eyes flutter and I look around the alleyway. The ground is littered with banana peels and candy wrappers, probably taken out from the dumpster bin by stray cats.
I stop leaning and begin walking down the silent backstreet, a stark comparison from the road I’d just escaped, and look up at the windows above me. The smells of dinner being cooked, and the yelling of parents at their children to come sit and eat makes me smile. It reminds me of my own mother’s calls to the table.
“¡Mija, ven a comer!” she would say.
The laundry on the clothesline sways with the evening breeze, blowing strands of my freshly dyed bright pink hair into my face. An orange glow is cast on the west facing building, and the sight of a calm sunset comforts me.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” I hear a voice from behind me.
I turn around, and my heart begins to thump again.
“Yes?” I question, after setting my eyes on the strangely dressed man. He resembles the Mad Hatter slightly, with his fashion sense.
He sports a long purple coat adorned with pins from record stores and farmer’s markets, it seems. Quite an interesting piece, one that makes me wonder how long he’s been putting it together.
“I believe you dropped this,” he says as he walks toward me holding a multicolored scarf.
I take it in my hand, though I know it isn’t mine.
“Thank you,” I say.
My response is even stranger, considering my full awareness of the thin scarf not belonging to me.
He nods, and looks up at the sunlight coated buildings and seems to notice certain curiosities that make him smile, revealing a gap between his two front teeth.
“Lovely evening, is it not?” he asks as he begins to walk, passing where I stand, then stopping, facing away from me.
“Quite lovely,” I respond.
“What brings you to this alleyway out of all the alleyways?” he inquires.
“A need for peace and quiet. And you?” I say in return, and not one bit of his interest in me seems to make me uncomfortable, which is a change, considering that almost every interaction seems to make me uncomfortable.
“The hope for an encounter with a stranger,” he tells me, and turns back to face me. “And I got what I wanted!” he exclaims.
I smile and proceed to ask him another question, surprising myself with my uniquely outgoing behavior. Just something about his presence feels so familiar.
“Why did you wish for an encounter with a stranger?”
He sighs, and moves over to the moss-green bench that I didn’t even realize was there at first.
“We’d better sit down for this explanation,” he tells me, gesturing for me to sit.
I take my seat on the opposite side of the bench, and he begins to speak.
“In my opinion, you’ll never know what you can learn from a complete and total stranger if you don’t take the time to talk to them. See, I’ve just learned that you’d rather be in peace and quiet and not around many people, which has led me to believe that you probably make many interesting observations, do you not?”
“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” I say, slightly bewildered at his perceptiveness.
“Well then, tell me what you first thought of when you looked at this alleyway,” he responds.
I take a deep breath and remember what it is I thought of. I begin to recount my observations of the smell of a freshly cooked meal, parents beckoning their children to the dinner table, and the shirts and pants and funny patterned socks moving back and forth with the breeze. The retelling of these facts fall off of my tongue, like I’ve unknowingly been preparing to explain them to someone.
He sits and looks up into the sky, which has now turned a mix of pink, orange and yellow with the sunset.
“I’d say that’s rather beautiful,” he states, the sunset reflecting in his eyes.
“Thank you,” I respond, a smile decorating my face.
We both sit in silence for what feels like a few minutes, and my mind goes quiet. I look at the sky and my eyes close momentarily, and when I open them again, I turn to look at him and realize he is gone.
Where could he have gone? His departure was as silent as his arrival.
I stand up, confused, and look left and right. Suddenly, I become aware of the scarf in my hand, and examine it.
With the last few slivers of daylight, I notice that embroidered at the bottom of the scarf in red thread, it reads: encounters with a stranger.
I smile, and place the scarf in my bag, pondering the possibility of continuing the tradition.
I walk out of the alleyway content, and join back into the still busy street, feeling perfectly calm.
After my breathing calms for a moment, my eyes flutter and I look around the alleyway. The ground is littered with banana peels and candy wrappers, probably taken out from the dumpster bin by stray cats.
I stop leaning and begin walking down the silent backstreet, a stark comparison from the road I’d just escaped, and look up at the windows above me. The smells of dinner being cooked, and the yelling of parents at their children to come sit and eat makes me smile. It reminds me of my own mother’s calls to the table.
“¡Mija, ven a comer!” she would say.
The laundry on the clothesline sways with the evening breeze, blowing strands of my freshly dyed bright pink hair into my face. An orange glow is cast on the west facing building, and the sight of a calm sunset comforts me.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” I hear a voice from behind me.
I turn around, and my heart begins to thump again.
“Yes?” I question, after setting my eyes on the strangely dressed man. He resembles the Mad Hatter slightly, with his fashion sense.
He sports a long purple coat adorned with pins from record stores and farmer’s markets, it seems. Quite an interesting piece, one that makes me wonder how long he’s been putting it together.
“I believe you dropped this,” he says as he walks toward me holding a multicolored scarf.
I take it in my hand, though I know it isn’t mine.
“Thank you,” I say.
My response is even stranger, considering my full awareness of the thin scarf not belonging to me.
He nods, and looks up at the sunlight coated buildings and seems to notice certain curiosities that make him smile, revealing a gap between his two front teeth.
“Lovely evening, is it not?” he asks as he begins to walk, passing where I stand, then stopping, facing away from me.
“Quite lovely,” I respond.
“What brings you to this alleyway out of all the alleyways?” he inquires.
“A need for peace and quiet. And you?” I say in return, and not one bit of his interest in me seems to make me uncomfortable, which is a change, considering that almost every interaction seems to make me uncomfortable.
“The hope for an encounter with a stranger,” he tells me, and turns back to face me. “And I got what I wanted!” he exclaims.
I smile and proceed to ask him another question, surprising myself with my uniquely outgoing behavior. Just something about his presence feels so familiar.
“Why did you wish for an encounter with a stranger?”
He sighs, and moves over to the moss-green bench that I didn’t even realize was there at first.
“We’d better sit down for this explanation,” he tells me, gesturing for me to sit.
I take my seat on the opposite side of the bench, and he begins to speak.
“In my opinion, you’ll never know what you can learn from a complete and total stranger if you don’t take the time to talk to them. See, I’ve just learned that you’d rather be in peace and quiet and not around many people, which has led me to believe that you probably make many interesting observations, do you not?”
“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” I say, slightly bewildered at his perceptiveness.
“Well then, tell me what you first thought of when you looked at this alleyway,” he responds.
I take a deep breath and remember what it is I thought of. I begin to recount my observations of the smell of a freshly cooked meal, parents beckoning their children to the dinner table, and the shirts and pants and funny patterned socks moving back and forth with the breeze. The retelling of these facts fall off of my tongue, like I’ve unknowingly been preparing to explain them to someone.
He sits and looks up into the sky, which has now turned a mix of pink, orange and yellow with the sunset.
“I’d say that’s rather beautiful,” he states, the sunset reflecting in his eyes.
“Thank you,” I respond, a smile decorating my face.
We both sit in silence for what feels like a few minutes, and my mind goes quiet. I look at the sky and my eyes close momentarily, and when I open them again, I turn to look at him and realize he is gone.
Where could he have gone? His departure was as silent as his arrival.
I stand up, confused, and look left and right. Suddenly, I become aware of the scarf in my hand, and examine it.
With the last few slivers of daylight, I notice that embroidered at the bottom of the scarf in red thread, it reads: encounters with a stranger.
I smile, and place the scarf in my bag, pondering the possibility of continuing the tradition.
I walk out of the alleyway content, and join back into the still busy street, feeling perfectly calm.