A happening.

When driving to work or walking down the street or doing something that's routine, look around and just see the world. Look at the people. There's such a story. 

Every morning I drive past a man. It depends how late I am, but he's always constant. Walking down the road. Causally. Arms swinging. Wearing a black painted flecked fleece, with a small golden logo embroidered on his chest. I wish I could see it so I could know more about him.  He seems a nice enough man. Always smiling.  Closely shaven head but wears a warm hat over it. The kind you'd wear at a football match. That's black too. He wears jeans and trainers. And he's of medium build. Once I even saw him walking back near my house when we crossed for once. We never do on a night. This makes me think that he works near me. Possibly as a mechanic. I don't know why I think this. I just do. 

I know he's even noticed me. When he's waking he gives a little bob. When I see him I think sometimes that he makes a little bob in my direction. But maybe that's just wishful thinking. 

Also on my journey is the mother with two sons. I rarely pay attention to her as she's always tagging along behind or pulling along her two boys. I assume they're the same age I teach.  One has a scarf, those animal ones that stretch over as hats and trail down their body like roadkill. They look nice enough. She's only told them off the once.  I know more about these people than the man I always see. Purely because you can tell which school the kids go to. And the mother makes a rather strange journey to make her way towards the school. She kinda crosses the road and back other rather than making the one crossing. I'd like to know why this is. 

My third person is a new one to me. It's odd cos these people are always there. You just don't notice unless you happen on them. It took one such happening for me to notice him. The one night I wasn't deep in thought and was actually taking in the surroundings - which are quite pretty as a matter of fact. Just a shame I work there. This man sits like he's squatting with a little scotty dog which looks like he's been up a chimney.  He sits holding this red lead. Dangling it between his two arms that rest on his knees.  He looks across the field, ignoring the road in front of him. Or sometimes he catches a watchful eye over the cars that pass.  I can tell he does this walk frequently and that he must come from one of the old farm buildings scattered around. Possibly the one with all the vehicles piled up the long drive. I know this because he's started to cut a small single file path on the grass. 

Every day that I see these people, and many besides (I could describe the cars I see every day-but it's the people that count), I think about whether they see me?  I mean REALLY see me, not just the cornflower micra. Do they look at me and wonder where I live? What I do? Where do I go? Whether I enjoy life? Just like I do when I look at them. 

I wonder what they think. 

Do they see the girl that's desperate and sinking in despair? Or the calm girl that I try to exhibit? Or don't they see me?  Am I just another human, in another vehicle?

Probably the latter. Because humans don't see humans. I mean REALLY see them.  And if they do. They just don't know what's happening beyond the exterior.