by Clara Ross
I look at my mobile, and the map tells me I need to traverse to the other side of the road, but it’s impossible. Freight trucks with metal containers honk their horns as they pass by me while I walk on the very narrow sidewalk between the road and the metal edge. I’m walking on the edge of danger, and what am I doing here? I’m at the city port, there’s no people, only trucks carrying containers labeled EVERGREEN and other names I fail to register. More trucks whizz past, just centimeters away from me, speeding down from the highway’s second level. I’m not even walking on a regular pavement, I’m stepping on plants and uneven soil with my black boots with giant soles. “Rat killers”, my uncle would call them. I look at my cell phone again while I glimpse a drop of water falling on the metal to my left, and I raise my eyes to see a black cloud heavy with impending rain. I shrug it off, considering the rain here is miserable anyway, and in this city, people are so dramatic that they put on rain boots, raincoats, and umbrellas just sensing a breeze on their faces. I chuckle at the thought, imagining them with fins and goggles, ready to brave the rain. But surprisingly, out of nowhere, I feel as if a bucket of water had just fallen over my entire body. My sole concern is being soaked and having nothing to shelter myself.
I try using my phone but water has taken over the screen avoiding my finger’s touch to work. When it suddenly works I look for other public transportation options to get away from the customs area, which is definitely not place for tourists. The results only show transport that will arrive in four hours. I can’t possibly wait that long here, in the rain, with low battery, and hungry. Suddenly, I spot a public transport truck on the other side of the road, and I look both ways on the road, thinking of the craziest idea I never thought would cross my mind: what if I cross the road and knock on the truck’s door? Quickly, the thought fades as trucks pass by again, and I return to my task of finding a safe and covered area. I find a traffic light with a pedestrian crossing that will take me to a bus stop. I approach the post to touch the digital button that triggers the red light on the traffic light when a person wants to cross the street, then I quickly dash under a tree.
Suddenly, I remember that I have a camera in my bag. I touch my bag from the outside and it’s soaked. I take a peek inside, and a flyer I got from a store hours ago is now soaked and torn apart by the water. I can only hope that the water didn’t get into the battery, so I change its position inside the bag. The traffic light is green, and I can cross. I reach the sidewalk in the middle of the street. As the endless drops hit my face, a truck honks its horn, and I fear it might run me over, but I look, and it’s a truck about to collide with another. I make eye contact with the driver. Even though the traffic light in front of him remains green, he lets me pass, and I go around the truck. I reach a safe sidewalk and feel like kissing the ground, but I don’t. I head to the station and wait under a tree.
© Clara Ross 2023-08-21