attributes of invisibility

Because he thinks no one is looking…

Evening rush hour on the first rain of the season, a weather condition which freaks out all the skittish L.A. drivers and amplifies any traffic tendencies toward stagnation. Today, the stop-and-stand traffic snakes all the way up and over Laurel Canyon.

I’m tired, hungry, and dinner lies a whole hillside and a half away.

I change the radio station for the fifteenth time in ten minutes; nothing suits my mood, and I've heard that same ad now at least five times. I fidget in my seat, inch forward up the hill, then come to a total stop behind the line of brilliant red brake lights that punctuate the twilight gray.

I squirm again. In the Lexus next to me, I notice the driver flicking a cigarette lighter several times. He leans over the steering wheel slightly and takes an enormous hit from a bong.

Or did I see that right?

Yes, I did.

Does he think that the windshield and traffic and rain grant him actual invisibility? Or is he just callous, or stupid, or both?

The Lexus driver sets the bong on the passenger seat, then turns to look at me. He’s dressed professionally, at least from what I can see; his hair is neat and he's well shaven. His smile is sly, direct, desperate.

At the next break in the traffic, he speeds ahead and cuts me off.

Because they think we are…

The middle-aged couple sits on the picnic bench in the park. The man wears a dramatic black felt hat with a turquoise sash, and a black suit, long greasy blond hair spilling out along the collar. The weathered woman in a long skirt with the brightly colored cloth over her head nods at him from across the table. The white boom box on the table between them is silent; on other days they blast classical music at the highest of decibles.

The man and the woman lean in close to each other as I pass; they exchange a few words. The woman leans back and breaks into a bright smile.

From a distance, they could be just another couple overdressed for a midafternoon picnic beside the LA River. If only the shopping carts full of their belongings and the brightly colored tatters of a child’s sleeping bag over her shoulders didn’t give them away.