I saw you. Just thought you'd like to know.
There I was, driving home from a mid-afternoon errand across the county, over a long avenue lined with leafy Pin Oaks and studded with Ride-On bus stops. The car in front of me slowed, and so did I.
You were under the bus stop shelter. Yes, you, in your mini skirt and crop top and iced Starbucks drink, chatting with a girlfriend whose back was to the cars driving by. You, among the four or five other people sitting on the bench and standing under the trees clutching their shopping bags and lunch sacks, waiting for the next bus and ignoring your animated conversation.
I would have ignored you too if I hadn't seen your girlfriend's hands moving from a quarter-mile back. Deaf radar, coupled with a lifetime living here in this county. This county, which, you should know if you live here too, is right splat in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle of holy deaf land.
The cars in front of me were all slowing down for some reason. Maybe it was a Canada geese crossing, maybe it was the ridiculous hem length on your something-teen old body. Don't know, don't care.
All I know is the red brake lights meant I had just enough time to peer through my windshield as I passed your bus stop to see you bring two fingers up to the side of your face and say: "--I'm a virgin, he knows--"
I don't know who "he" is, I don't know why I now know the sexual status of some random teen on the streets, and I don't know why you were having that public conversation less than a quarter mile away from the middle school that hosts one of the biggest deaf ed programs for miles around.
Well, I saw you. Just thought you'd like to know.