I missed the turn somewhere past the Sunoco

I missed the turn somewhere past the Sunoco,

came up through a subdivision I didn't know,

the kind where all the garage doors are the same shade

of pale beige, the same width,

the same small lamp above each one.

Dead end.

I sat there with the engine running

thinking about what you said and what I said

and what I should have said instead,

and then I started the turn—

first angle, forward, then reverse,

then forward again, wheels cutting tight—

and there was a kid on a bike

just stopped in the middle of the road.

One foot down on the asphalt. Watching.

Not smiling, not mean, just watching

the way a kid watches a dog trying to get through a gate,

curious about the mechanics of the problem.

No judgment in it. That was the worst part.

Just the clean, open attention

of someone who doesn't know yet

that watching a person fumble

in a cul-de-sac

is the kind of thing you look away from.

I got the car straight and drove back out.

In the rearview he was still there,

one foot down,

watching me go.