There is sometimes a lot of foot traffic down this stretch, including a middle-eastern man who I started waving at 3 years ago, and ever since then, we've been "waving pals." It always brings a mutual smile to our faces to see each other and wave. I don't know the guy, but this story is not about that man. It's about a new walker, with a new made-up true story. He wears fairly beat-up clothes: slip-on shoes, a tie dye shirt and some cargo pants. He always carries a grocery bag over his shoulder and walks with a palsy-beat. One of his arms is tucked and looks as if he's carrying an imaginary football. However, none of these things measure up to the amount of what caught my eye the first time I saw him lugging groceries down the sidewalk. This man has the most beautiful hair I've ever seen on anyone in my life.
As I drove up on this man the first time, I thought he was a woman. The flaxen ripply flow went down to the middle of his back, believe it or not. It was like Kenny G or Weird Al's hair, if they would've grown theirs out for another year. It was like vintage Michael Bolton's hair, but way more majestic.
Nearly every day, I saw "Beautiful Hair Guy," and every time, I'd stare in awe. The questions rushed to my brain: How far does he walk every day? Why doesn't he stock-up on groceries? What shampoo does he use? His clothes were fairly bland, but his hair shone like God's horse's mane. A true gift. I went to work and asked co-workers if they'd taken notice of this man and his beautiful hair, but they just laughed as I drew a quick sketch.
One day, as I was driving home from work, I was approaching an intersection, and a man turned in front of me - we collided. Quietly freaking out, I wrestled out of my airbag to see that my car was smoking. I threw open my door, jumped out, and immediately ran away from my hissing, totaled car. I had my hands on my knees bent over trying to stop my panic attack, when I looked up and saw the BHG hobbling over to me as fast as he could. He said "Are you okay?" I paused, gave a quick giggle and said "I am now." Seeing that everyone was fine, he carried on out of the road and down the sidewalk. I couldn't believe it. Was this man my guardian angel in Birkenstocks? Perhaps.
Several days after the incident, I went to the police station to get a copy of my police report. As I read the accounts, I stopped, re-read, opened my mouth and with a fixed gaze, started laughing hysterically. The other driver told the police that he was distracted by a child on the median.
A child?! He obviously wasn't looking at the person's face! He was looking at the BHG's hair! He turned in front of me because he was in awe of the man's beautiful hair!
Do other people see my guardian angel as a child? I'm not sure. I snapped a picture of him once and this is all I got. A blurry vision of the BHG, but I'm okay with that.