driver was so tall, he had to hunch to keep his head from touching the ceiling. His neck was skinny, and a scar in the shape of a bow-tie peeked out from the collar of a black T-shirt.
“That guy drove past like I wasn’t there,” Dave said, pointing at the cab disappearing in the distance.
“Sometimes these drivers, their minds wander.” The man spoke with a rich East African accent.
“Coxwell and Gerrard, please.”
“No problem.” The traffic light turned red, and the man seized the opportunity to turn and face Dave. The whites of his eyes were glazed yellow, but they burned with intensity. “You were born here, yeah?”
“I was.”
The light turned green, and he accelerated into the next lane.
“You have no idea how fortunate you are. I’m from Rwanda, and I can tell you that people here, they wouldn’t believe how some of the world lives.”
“Tough living, I imagine.” Dave wanted to be polite, but his mind was still on the concert.
“I tell everyone that will listen, your nightmares can’t compare to my reality there. I had to leave my family at fourteen to avoid being forced into the rebel army, and I walked across the desert to reach free soil. I started the journey with my best friend, but on the ninth morning, he never woke up, so I had to leave him. Can you picture such a moment? Tongue swollen with dehydration, mind hazy from a lack of food, your heart heavy because you know you will never see your family again, and your best friend lying dead before you.”
Dave stared at the rear-view mirror to meet the man’s eyes and did his best with the look to show that he’d taken the story in.
“Embrace your life,” the driver said. “You live a life my people only dream of.”
Dave nodded. The cab’s radio crackled and the dispatcher’s tired voice filled the vehicle. “Car number three-twenty-two just had a code purple. Driver fine, passenger injured, police on site.”
The driver turned to Dave. “Good thing that driver ignored you. He just got carjacked.”
“What?”
“They say the driver is fine, but the passenger is injured, and that would have been you.”
Dave nodded. A carjacked cab in daylight. One could live a long time and not hear a story like that, let alone be present for the madness. He considered the probability. The cab wouldn’t have taken the same route if he was in it, so therefore the driver’s belief that he had narrowly escaped tragedy was a false connection.
He tipped the driver ten dollars and approached Amy’s place determined to forget that he’d heard the cab was robbed. Sadness had shadowed him since his own accident, and he craved fantasy, not more reality.
He pressed Amy’s buzzer, but after a few minutes, she still hadn’t answered, so he considered leaving for a moment before pressing the buzzer once more.
Hurried steps approached the door from the other side before it opened, and Amy took a step back with surprise.
“Hey.”
Her brow furrowed into a look of confusion.
“I thought I’d do better than call,” he said. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course.”
“Can I come in?”
She nodded and stepped to the side so he could enter. “Did my brother pay you to come back?”
“No. I know I should have called, but I’ve got a surprise that demands face-to-face contact.”
She held up a phone that she gripped so tight, her knuckles were white. “Sorry, I’m dazed. My phone number is cursed, and I just got another weird call.”
“And how would you define a phone number as being cursed?”
“It’s been mistaken for a non-residential number.”
“That happens.”
“Three times a day for the last two months.”
“Are you sure they’re not prank calls?”
“I thought they were at first, but the people on the other end were as disappointed with me answering as I was with them calling. Do you still think I’m not unlucky?”
“Having your phone number mixed up doesn’t make you unlucky.”
“The first set
“That guy drove past like I wasn’t there,” Dave said, pointing at the cab disappearing in the distance.
“Sometimes these drivers, their minds wander.” The man spoke with a rich East African accent.
“Coxwell and Gerrard, please.”
“No problem.” The traffic light turned red, and the man seized the opportunity to turn and face Dave. The whites of his eyes were glazed yellow, but they burned with intensity. “You were born here, yeah?”
“I was.”
The light turned green, and he accelerated into the next lane.
“You have no idea how fortunate you are. I’m from Rwanda, and I can tell you that people here, they wouldn’t believe how some of the world lives.”
“Tough living, I imagine.” Dave wanted to be polite, but his mind was still on the concert.
“I tell everyone that will listen, your nightmares can’t compare to my reality there. I had to leave my family at fourteen to avoid being forced into the rebel army, and I walked across the desert to reach free soil. I started the journey with my best friend, but on the ninth morning, he never woke up, so I had to leave him. Can you picture such a moment? Tongue swollen with dehydration, mind hazy from a lack of food, your heart heavy because you know you will never see your family again, and your best friend lying dead before you.”
Dave stared at the rear-view mirror to meet the man’s eyes and did his best with the look to show that he’d taken the story in.
“Embrace your life,” the driver said. “You live a life my people only dream of.”
Dave nodded. The cab’s radio crackled and the dispatcher’s tired voice filled the vehicle. “Car number three-twenty-two just had a code purple. Driver fine, passenger injured, police on site.”
The driver turned to Dave. “Good thing that driver ignored you. He just got carjacked.”
“What?”
“They say the driver is fine, but the passenger is injured, and that would have been you.”
Dave nodded. A carjacked cab in daylight. One could live a long time and not hear a story like that, let alone be present for the madness. He considered the probability. The cab wouldn’t have taken the same route if he was in it, so therefore the driver’s belief that he had narrowly escaped tragedy was a false connection.
He tipped the driver ten dollars and approached Amy’s place determined to forget that he’d heard the cab was robbed. Sadness had shadowed him since his own accident, and he craved fantasy, not more reality.
He pressed Amy’s buzzer, but after a few minutes, she still hadn’t answered, so he considered leaving for a moment before pressing the buzzer once more.
Hurried steps approached the door from the other side before it opened, and Amy took a step back with surprise.
“Hey.”
Her brow furrowed into a look of confusion.
“I thought I’d do better than call,” he said. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course.”
“Can I come in?”
She nodded and stepped to the side so he could enter. “Did my brother pay you to come back?”
“No. I know I should have called, but I’ve got a surprise that demands face-to-face contact.”
She held up a phone that she gripped so tight, her knuckles were white. “Sorry, I’m dazed. My phone number is cursed, and I just got another weird call.”
“And how would you define a phone number as being cursed?”
“It’s been mistaken for a non-residential number.”
“That happens.”
“Three times a day for the last two months.”
“Are you sure they’re not prank calls?”
“I thought they were at first, but the people on the other end were as disappointed with me answering as I was with them calling. Do you still think I’m not unlucky?”
“Having your phone number mixed up doesn’t make you unlucky.”
“The first set
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