The bus is creeping along the construction-clogged city street. 5:07 PM. She counts the number of cars and trucks between the bus and the next traffic light: 14. Two light cycles to get through to the next block. That would be...5 minutes? And then how many lights after that? Four? Maybe, if all goes well, she could get there before 5:30. The numbers and times and permutations of all possible scenarios whirl around and around in her head, like a spinning dervish, its edges blurring. She tries to wipe the numbers from her head. She should have known, should have anticipated, should have left work earlier.
More traffic snags and snarls. The people on the sidewalk are outpacing the bus. She sits, body held rigid on the hard plastic seat. There's no escape, no bus stop until the next light. What time is it? 5:28? Fuck fuck FUCK! she screams silently, the sharp consonants pinging against her skull like needles.
Finally she's out of the squealing, lumbering bus, walking down the sidewalk. Squinting into the sun. Waiting for lights to change. Swerving around moseying students. Not looking at the time, just moving as fast as she can. It's here, #305. Walking up the four flights of stairs, yes, this is the right door. 5:40 now, and the door is locked. She doesn't know the code for the door, she forgot to save that scrap of paper. 3323? 3456? Who the hell knows. It's no use pressing the buttons randomly, there are too many combinations. So she's late, too late. The numbers have won again.
The numbers, the numbers. Like metal typewriter hammers striking against her brain, raising welts in sharp relief. Too many, too fast. They all blend together and look the same. The numbers have no nuance or feeling; they're just cold, delineated symbols. There's no way to shape them or control them, massage them into something smoother or fuzzier. Little Nazi numbers, little dictators.
She counts the steps as she walks back down the stairs -- 72 -- and opens the front door, defeated.
Posted by thevieve at September 8, 2005 1:13 PMTRUTH? I was feelin' the posits on the Lucifer type oridinals at the locked door, Vieve; your numerical verbiage had me in the grips.
Posted by: Clarence on September 9, 2005 11:44 AM