2:30 pm – Answered a call to drop passenger at International Airport.
As I'm driving there I reflect on the relative oblivion we face while transporting passengers from one destination to another. I don't mind though. Never been one to take much interest in other people's personal stories, unless they feel like sharing, in which case I just listen. Nothing to do with me. But I do like to observe and relfect on the intricacies of human relationships and how they defy pigmentation.
Keeping the a.m. station turned on serves the dual purpose of allaying their concern that I'm listening to their private conversations and gives me a worthwhile distraction. I don't want to know what they're talking about. Private conversations in a 5 seater taxi? Try again.
As I arrive at the pick up spot, two youths approach the cab and as they continue their flirtatious exchanges I unlock and flip open the boot. He puts the one piece luggage in the boot, making me think only one of them is making this trip overseas. She waits for him and when he's done, instructs him to get into the car first.
The consequential pleasantness of a clear autumn day notwithstanding, the youths are completely absorbed in the other's company and happy to ignore my presence. I'm happy to oblige. As his hands struggle to find hers, she moves her bag aside allowing him to complete the connection.
He's awkward with his movements as she tries to fidget around him positioning herself as comfortably as two people restrained by seat belts can be positioned. His tactile affection meets her verbal tenderness and thus continues their exchange.
He teases her about all the good looking girls anticipating his return and she turns away in indignation at his taunts. He watches her sillhouette appreciatively memorsing each bump. He talks excitedly about his new found appreciation of self as she musters a feeble comeback, knowing full well its no match to his boyish jests.
Her inexperience and consequent insecurities shield her from the blazing heat of his affection. An affection that rejects pretence making way for an entirely unabashed exchange. He talks openly of all things meta/physical. His love for her, his desire to be loved, take her from the highs of appreciation to the lows of jealousy. Its so apparent on her face, I'm continually amazed at a young man's inability to read women's minds, and faces.
She wants a doting kind of love that sets her body alive with a single touch. She wants the poetry flowing through his nervous system to permeate her senses.
He's so smitten by her presence he can hardly keep his eyes off her and his hands to himself. He can barely think straight for all the conversation he wants to make before they must part. His hands can find no other refuge but in hers.
She weeps a tiny tear as they near their destination. His heart sinks and his face follows suit. He can't bear her crystalline sorrow. There's no room here for his fears, he must make her feel better by the end of this ride. He's consoling her, she's fighting the torrent of tears banging hard against the floodgates. His playful nature comes to the rescue and he cracks an old favourite. She smiles at first and then suddenly her face lights up as she laughs through tears.
They're so perfectly oblivious of my presence I feel almost voyeuristic.
We arrive, he pays, she gets out of the car. I unlock the boot and he drags his bag out. She walks on ahead.