Off Beat with the City

Bundled up, I am a rainbow: yellow coat, pink hat, gloves in two shades of blue. I have a green backpack. I'm ready to brave the cold and ride my bike to work.

I hop on my bike, begin to pedal. No soft clicking. The chain is off. I'm immobile.

I hop off, pull at the chain, and snap it back onto the gear. On again, click-click-click-click, the soft sounds of the gears pick up pace until they whirrrrrrrr, and I race to get to work, to make up for the brief delay of the off-chain.

Click-click-click-click, the tempo increases, but the sense of urgency is pulled back, slowed, by the soft huuuuh, of each panting breath. Click-click-click-click-huuuuuuuuuuuuh.

The rhythm is Zen, and I'm lost in it. I can't even hear the irregular wuuuuusssh of the cars passing by because there's only the clicking and panting. All other sounds are blocked out. The blood rushing through my ears denies them entry.

But the light up ahead turns yellow. I stop pedalling and the click is silenced, but my breath is still going...huuuuuuuuuuuuh, pause, huuuuuuuuuuuuh.

I squeeze the brakes kshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. The noises of the city regain hold--all sounds of the movement of cars. No birds. No wind stirring grass or trees. I alone seem to be living in the concrete and rubber and metal.

A small man, wearing all blacks and greys, shrunken into himself with the cold, crosses the street, and as he steps up onto the sidewalk in front of me he looks up and says, "Don't ride too fast now." He smiles. I smile. Though silent, the smiles sing, they blare joy as loud as any trumpet. Two races, two classes, two genders, two ages--two worlds in fact, but this man is my neighbor, and I love him for silencing the city with his smile.

He continues down the sidewalk, and the cars resume their insect buzzing. The light changes. Cliiiick-cliick-click-click-click-click-huuuuuuuuuuuuh. Gone is the city once again. There is only me, the pumping of my calves, and the rushing of my blood.

But a few blocks later a light goes amber, kshhhhh. An abrupt cutoff of my inner beat. I focus on the orange hand, telling me not cross, holding my pause. This light is my conductor, and I am frozen until it releases me to continue the song.

Beebeeeeeeep!  I look right to see the driver of an SUV waving at me and pulling up along the curb nearest my bike and me. I think he needs directions, so I unstraddle my bike and walk over.

"I've seen you before. And I wanted to stop because I didn't think I'd see you again. My name is Akeem. Can I give you my number?"

I'm awkward so I take the torn corner of a book cover with his number hastily written on the inside and find myself offering my own name and number. I am not interested in a date, but I have an irrational fear of confrontation, so I default to being congenial even when I just want to mind my own business and maintain seeming invisibility.

He drives on. I look up. The orange hand tells me to stay where I am. I missed my cue and must wait through another light.

When I resume pedalling there is no click, no panting, no rushing blood. The city has broken my song with intruding thoughts of "I should have said no." The words sever the beats of my rhythm all day.

When I ride home, the halting thoughts are still there, alongside an urgency to outpace the fading sunlight. There is no music for this ride, so loud are my worries. As I pedal the last block, in my rainbow of winter gear, the unsettling knock of "I should have said no; I need to get home" is interrupted by a long deliberate haaaaaahaahaaaahaaaaaaaa.

A head stuck out the window of a red truck is laughing at me. What do they find so funny? Do they think because I'm riding a bike in the cold that I cannot afford a car? Is that funny? It shouldn't be. Regardless, I am riding a bike in the cold because it is good. My blood is flowing. I am healthy. No noxious fumes do I throw in the air.

No matter. I am feet from my door. The ride is over. The day is done. The city has won, and its song is in my head--a steady drumming of anger offset by irregular taps of anxiety.

My beat is off from this city. My rhythm cannot move here, cannot play out a song.

Post-Interview Concerns

So I have just kept thinking since I left the interview that I failed to convince them that I want to be in that particular city. They would be making an investment in me as an individual, they need to know that I won't skip out on them in 6 months or a year for something "better."

The truth is though, that most of the other things I've applied for aren't panning out. Most of the other things I've applied for are also with large companies, and I like their small company. I like it for all the same reasons that they like it. They have me completely sold on wanting the job.

They have reason to be concerned that I don't have many friends in that place, but where do I really have many friends? My closest friends are scattered across the country. MHK still has a horde, but those numbers will rapidly dwindle. There is no doubt about that. Returning to MHK doesn't sound that great to me.

I've looked in some other major cities where I have friends, and I'm just not finding as many appealing options as I have found in Kansas. I do not want to move to any new city for a job I find only mildly appealing for a friend or friends that will probably only stay in that place a year or two.

I'm ready to establish a niche somewhere. I want to join a gym and a book club, to establish some reliable lifelong friends. I want to live cheap and stockpile money like a those quiet simple neighbors you hear about that ended up having millions in coffee cans. I want to be that crazy lady. I think our nation is on a permanent downward spiral. I don't want my retirment to be dictated by stocks I'm not sure will ever recover. So I'm ready to establish a lifestyle that is prepared for this change, and I'm happy about this potential simple life because I think a shift away from material wealth will be nice in this country.

Some people really despise the city of this potential job. I understand why, but I think this city will suit my needs. It may actually suit my needs because it tends to be despised. It doesn't feel like a big city. The city where I did my undergrad experiences similar constant criticism. I liked it there a lot. It's also the home city of my dear friend Molly, so I can count on seeing her any time she visits her family.

Please, please let me have this job. I really do like the city. All I really need is my silly cat, a home, and some books. I'm easy.