MUSCLE

She was standing in the middle of the street, one foot on one side of the dotted yellow line, the other on the other. Darius could see her from his bedroom. The street wasn’t busy, never was this time of night, and more than one neighbor had even suggested removing the streetlight—the Brannons said it kept them up—but it was still a street, which meant that there was a theoretical possibility of a car turning off Jarrett or Morris and crossing over to Howard. Were that to happen, she might be hit or killed. Darius opened his bedroom window. “Hey,” he said. “What are you doing? A person shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the street in the middle of the night naked.” Oh yes: he had neglected to mention that she was naked. She turned toward him and waved with a friendly rhythm. “Don’t look at me,” she said. “I’d really appreciate it.” “But the cars…” Darius said. “Yes, yes,” the woman said. “I know. The cars. The big scary cars. Demons of machinery and gasoline. Look, man, don’t worry about it. I might look vulnerable, but any car that comes along is going to bounce right off me.” Something in her tone convinced him. He went to sleep. And sure enough, in the morning, she was not there any longer, but there were two cars, one on the north side of the road, one on the south, each with a dent in its hood where her thighs and hips had bent the metal.

©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas