Chronicle of Dismembered Parts
Heart almost felt like giving out. It expanded and collapsed, beating wildly against the contraption that ensured stability. Legs followed each other at a regulated pace, the crunch of gravel not far from the ears. Skin rubbed against polyester, glistening in the morning warmth.
A car’s horn blared past trying to overtake another but keeping away from the edge where bodies summoned by calls to healthier living bounced in unison, as if following music played in the earplug; as if a man was going to fall in love any minute.
Mind was still, save for the occasional register of stares and lingering glances on feminine bosoms in the midst of hard, carved calves. Another honk, this time towards one such bosom, and then a hoot from a body leaning casually over the fuel tank of an okada. The hard calves barely broke rhythm as hands felt for tiny pebbles to turn up the music volume.
Body begins its shift: a straightened back, a surer pose — just like the jerseys in front. One stretches out a hand and motions away from the owner’s body, an oncoming car obeys. Mind notices, and body moves a little away from the edge of the raised hot asphalt curb it had been pressed against, and from which trees with limbs that had to be pushed away sprang forth occasionally.
Tomorrow, one hand from body will mimic this gesture, but the head will not be there to check whether the car obeyed, it will be busy attending to the beating heart.