I stand defiantly at the side of the track, the dust of the earth swirling around my ankles as the heat of the sun beats down on the top of my head. The dust continues to billow up from the tires of the bus that speeds away from me. I can see neither forward nor backwards and stand in limbo.
I want to reach out for it , run after it, call it back to me and ask, no beg, for it to turn around and take me home. I am hot and I am sweating. I can’t tell if the heat is pounding down on me from above or radiating up from below, but it is suffocating. I can feel the hot bead of perspiration forming and dripping along my spine, collecting in the wrinkles of where my shirt meets my belt at the base of my back. I imagined the soggy patch, growing larger and larger, a physical betrayal of the apprehension and fear that I am trying so hard to conceal. The road is less glamorous than I imagined. When would I be able to wash this sweat out of my shirt? For how long would I have to travel with dried out crystals of salty fear clingy to me?
I turn slowly in the opposite direction to which the bus was now disappearing from sight and placed a heavy foot forward. Walking, at least somewhere, even blind as I currently am, is better than this limbo. I’d walk, I tell myself, until I found the road where travelers travel along. The only thing I know is that it sure as hell ain’t this one.
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