I Think I'll Bike Instead.

I didn't notice him at first- the morning sun blazing into my eyes, a blinding white. And then there he was - a man I have seen before. He waits at the corner of Shelby and 5th Ave. He sits by a bench, his left foot crossing neatly over his right and remains standing, Contributor News in hand. The bench he occupies is narrow but homey in a way only a man without a home could create. My bike creaks to a stop, the blinking of intersecting lights signifying slow. I am both averting eyes and making eye contact with the familiar face. His face is smooth and taut, stretched tightly and with subtle give to the full lips that are cracked, slightly parted. The dark flicker of his gaze stirs my discomfort. They plead. Those eyes- they sit deep and shine, wet pools collecting in either corner. I pretend not to see his pupils- gazing instead at the swift change of lights ahead, begging with the light. A tangle of clear curls spiral in disarray across his face. His grin this morning is sloppy, lopsided. Boyishly, he casts his eyes toward me, shyly twitching the corner of his mouth. His weight settles on one foot and he raises a hand to greet me. I look away and nod with a slight, almost indiscernible gesture of greeting. Every morning we do this. I feel it forced on my part, contrived to extend an honest greeting- not when I see a healthy, robust body of able strength and clearly, coherent thought. Do something, I think. Do anything besides creating a small moment of chaos before my conscience. He smiles almost sheepishly- his eyes alive with promise and potential that pales in comparison to the humdrum of a four-way stop in the inner-city. The redness of shirt sticks to his body- failing to conceal the soft paunch settling and unsettling with each breath. I can’t bear to meet his eyes- fear that he recognized the scrutiny and judgment in my eyes. Today though- I stopped. I had so many questions.