Every morning I saw her jogging along the roadside, her blonde hair tied in a ponytail flopping up and down as she sprinted effortlessly. She was thin as a board from her obsession with running. Her shoulders and hips were so narrow she looked as though she could easily fit between two studs in a wall.
When she would pass by me close enough, I could see her tanned and leathered skin covering her sinewy muscles. Her cell phone secured itself tightly to her right biceps, a small headset connected to the phone. She wore skin-tight satin blue running shorts and a lime green tank top.
The morning traffic on the narrow road was heavy and too fast for the posted speed limit of 25 miles per hour. People who were on their way to work drove insanely fast. I worried about pedestrians, especially the thin blonde woman. I believed a speeding car would eventually strike her down at the curb.
I don't know what led me to think she would have an accident. I didn't dream about it or have an omen. It was nothing like that. Maybe I was obsessed with seeing her every day, but I doubt that was it. She looked so frail and thin against the brute force of the oncoming cars, trucks, and buses I thought an accident was bound to happen.
While I was getting my mail from the box at the curb, I saw her swiftly jogging toward me. I waved hello and politely shouted at her to be careful. She graciously waved back, but I doubt she heard me because of the loud music blaring from her headphones. A split second later, a bicyclist came speeding toward us and nearly had to swerve into a car to avoid hitting either one of us. I immediately wondered if this had been the accident I knew would come.
There's a little diner I like to frequent for lunch. One time as I arrived at the restaurant, a red Ducati motorcycle pulled up alongside me. A woman dressed in tight leather slacks and a leather jacket got off the bike. When she removed her helmet, I recognized her right away, her long blonde hair flowing gracefully in relief of the constraining headgear. We said hello to one another, and I complimented her on her taste in motorcycles. She thanked me for the praise, but I doubt she remembered me from our previous, but brief, acquaintance.
As I started making breakfast the other morning, I noticed I was out of milk. I decided to walk a couple of blocks to the convenience store. It was early, the sun still struggling to rise. By the time I nearly reached the store, the sun, low to the ground, had now cast a blinding light. I looked both ways before crossing the street to the store. Just when I thought the road was clear, a bright red motorcycle came speeding out of the blazing sunlight, striking me down.
iIllustration and story copyright © 2020 by Michael DeFrancesco
