Frank De Canio

Idling Passion

She had headphones on and was burning shoe rubber, listening to its music. Swaying to its beat, she was pumping up my tires in the subway car I was in. I don’t usually look at girls while in transit, but this dusty blonde with extremely cropped hair and a spunky mien made me fasten my seat belt.  Periodically she’d look askance at whomever, but seemed to be leaning toward me as to her audience. She must have seen herself as a dear caught in my headlights. Later she’d look directly in my eyes and I would stand firm in the way men do. God, I’d love to get behind the wheel of that car, fill it with octane gas and travel with her to exotic places. But I had many miles on my odometer and more to go before I’d sleep with her. I also needed gas! I was a dog chasing after cars I couldn’t drive. In any case she seemed altogether too costly for my pedestrian purse. I’d never be able to keep pace with her. The thought of getting in the driver’s seat and plowing full speed ahead, worried me. I mean what if we’re on the highway of intimacy with tires squealing and no way to stop the riding surge and get off. Nor did I know what spendthrifts do with sudden purchases, assuming I’d invest in her.  Do I sidle to her passenger seat and ask how she’s doing and whether she’d like to go out on a date with me? Or should I oil my gears by having coffee with her at Starbucks? Why do the gods tempt a plodder with a fast car?
If it had been my normal route I would have disembarked and tailgated her through Grand Central Station beckoning for directions, in lieu of anything else. This night I was flirting with uptown, so all I could do was give her a parting glance as she passed by me toward the exit, still blowing her horn. I would have liked to chase after her. How I wish she had been mean-spirited, off-putting, and dismissive. For only dummies chase after cars with flat tires that are being towed. But her car was up and running as I was, and all I could do was let it go, grateful for the brief time we shared together.

 

Frank De Canio was born & bred in New Jersey. He worked in New York City for many years. He loves music of all kinds, from Bach to Amy Winehouse, and attends  a philosophy Café Philo, (in lower Manhattan, New York). I love Dylan Thomas, Sylvia Plath as poets and Shakespeare as a playwright.