Weekly Wasaic Writing

Friday August 5, 2005 12 Noon

In front of me dozens of mini vans sit in neat rows opposite yellow concrete poles. Just beyond the parking lot: endless green mountains.

I sit in the heat waiting. One forty-ish woman next to me is mid-conversation with another. She turns to her friend and asks, "is it sciatica?" In the middle of woman number two's long answer number one notices Kathy and shouts "Kathy!" The woman who may have sciatica looks at the approaching blue convertible and joyfully sings "helllllllooooooowwwwwww!!!!!!!" A few happy slams of trunks and doors later and they are gone.

I'm not alone for long. A big yellow garbage truck pulls up on the curb about seven inches in front of me. A man wearing a neon traffic vest and a frown starts swinging clear bags of garbage into his truck from the bin three inches to my right.

Ten minutes later. Still no sign of my ticket out of here, Martcel from the Chech Republic. I'm the only one here. The garbage guy has gone off. His truck still sits in front of me, maybe Matcel is behind it. I get up to check. There is no life in the parking lot.

Tne sun is burning my right ear. And I don't have suntan lotion. And I have to use the bathroom. I start wondering if there's a bathroom. Where might the bathroom be? Then I hear my name.

Martcel from the Chech Republic asks "were you waiting long?" I tell her the exact amount of time. She is twenty years old, full of life, looks like a Chech cheerleader. She apoligizes for being late.

"Neil. I noticed when I pulled up you sit yoga style, what is the reason for this?," she asks. I answer this question I've been asked for years. We wind throught the beautiful hills of Wasaic. And I wonder what this scene will look like next week.