I think I saw my soul tonight

To the crazy-ass woman who stopped me on 13^th Ave.

Dear woman, 

I never met you before tonight, when I had to fully stop my car on 13^th Avenue to let you cross the street. I know you probably aren’t reading this, but I figure you can mentally collect internet traffic in the room in your head where I imagine there are shit stains on the walls spelling out your various conspiracy theories about salsas that are made in New York City. 

I was dropping off some books at the Carlson branch of the Fargo Library and took I-29 down to 13^th Ave. to stop at Cashwise to grab some non-curdled milk, the best kind of milk in my book, and some other provisions. I saw the bus at the stop in front of Kinkos from the time I got off the highway, but figured it would have enough time to get going before I needed to turn. I figured it would be a waste of energy to change lanes to turn right in front of the bus. 

Some guys with bikes got off the bus and headed down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, and as the bus pulled away, you stepped forward from behind the bus bench. You were a heavier-set woman and wearing some sort of shirt that was a loud turquoise, and your chin length frizzy mop of hair was a color of yellow not before known to man. I guesstimate you to be in your 20s, with a dark tan. 

You walked forward, past the bus bench, and hovered a foot off the curb into my lane. I wanted to turn, but was riding the brake to see what you were up to and to give you time to see me and back the fuck off. The road behind me was relatively clear, and in full sight of me you stepped off the curb into my lane as I hit my blinker. 

You waved. 

I slowed down some more. 

You waved more frantically. 

What the shit?

You were now fully in front of my car, waving to me like I saved your drowning puppy. You then started walking around the car to my window, still waving, and smiling, and I have no idea who the fuck you are. I searched my memory banks for former students you might match, but came up empty. No one, no one on earth that I know could be you. 

I was fully stopped now, and rolled down my window slightly, in retrospect I suppose this would have been the perfect opportunity for you to shove whatever weapons you might have been carrying in at my face, but you still seemed preoccupied with waving frantically at me. 

“Hi.” You said. 

“Hi.” I said. 

That was the extent of our conversation. You wheeled around and darted across 13^th before more cars could approach. 

What the hell? 

I finished my turn, parked, got some groceries, and tried to shake off the encounter. No, you are not anyone I know. Not at all. 

I am now terrified of you. And I will have trouble sleeping tonight without thinking of you crawling through the window while my fiance and I sleep and start waving again from the foot of the bed. You scare me. 

Please stop waving at cars. We are not your friends. 

Sincerely, 

Fargo Jones