Rumbling vibrato in my throat is my beat in the morning cloud of traffic, audible only to me. I’m having a grand ol’ time, heels clicking in time with my funky vocal stylings. I’m killing it.
“Left a good job in the city…Working for the man every night and day…”
I’m groovin’ now, get a little shoulder action in there.
“Big wheels keep on turning–“
Screeching wheels, screaming horn, urgent dinging explode behind me. A tram is gliding on a collision course with a pedestrian.
The man is a zombie with earphones, gliding coolly in the spotlight of the tram’s headlights. The tram is still moving, and he isn’t reacting.
I shriek an expletive over my shoulder and recoil, convinced this is the Nightmare Moment. Morbid curiosity holds my gaze to the scene.
The tram’s nose has halted, narrowly missing the zombie’s legs. No reaction whatever; he has no idea that he almost met his maker.
Passersby look askance at me for standing in the sidewalk, taking up space. I’m part of the morning pedestrian traffic flow, how dare I deviate?
My boots click more irregularly now, and my voice is caught in the hollow of my throat. False notes squeak out: “Proud Mary keep on burnin’…”
And then there is no more music. I’ve been smacked back into reality. My eyes start burning, and I am silent the rest of the way to work.
What the hell is wrong with us?
I wake up to the sound of the wind screaming outside. I’m breathing heavily from the nightmare I’ve just been freed from. The window shade is rattling, and my windows are creaking.
The wind moans over the sound of the grains in my bread crackling in the toaster. It haunts me as I get dressed and zip up my boots. As strong as the wind is now, it’s nothing compared to what I’ll meet on the walk to the station.
I carefully tie my hair and scarf to keep them under control, and my resolve is firm when I turn the key to lock my door. No turning back now.
I ascend the hill near my sheep buddies, and their matted wool and stoic gazes are unmoving in this tempest. Spindly branches whip above my head, and I skirt quickly away from the groaning trees.
My usually peaceful country path is now unfamiliar in its aggression. The wind is so powerful, I can’t walk straight, and I fear it’ll rip my contact lenses straight out of my eyes. Wincing into each step, I hear nothing but howling in my ears.
Nothing but howling?
I can fix that.
I start singing. Each gust threatens to cut off my breath, but I can’t miss this perfect opportunity to belt out some great disco hits. This is a walk from hell, but I can either bitch and moan into the breeze, or smile and sing into it. The latter is way more fun.
I imagine a winegrower sipping his morning coffee, further down in the valley, catching the tune as it’s carried over on a strong gust. He taps his foot and hums along, in harmony with my vocals. The wind screams for an encore. I take a bow, board my train, and leave it wanting more.