by Rachel Wagner

I was driving around Lincoln Park onto Broad Street one day. It was nice out, sun shining, but I was sad about a guy that I liked who was treating me like trash. Lil Wayne was speaking through my speakers. A whole crowd of guys from the halfway houses were standing on the grass right there in the park. If you’re at that light, you’re basically sitting where they stand for a smoke break or whatever. They all look over at once to hopefully get a peek at a girl like me. So they’re staring, and I look out at them for second. One guy was tall and thin and had a really cute face. He gave me the warmest smile like he knew he had a good mouth and good teeth—and he did. People probably told him that his whole life and somehow things led to him here, standing on dead grass in downtown Newark in a crowd of incarcerated men all competing for a flicker of attention from a person in a 20-year-old Honda, if even just a brief moment. My eyes met his. How couldn’t they? They were light like mine. Brown hair like mine. That smile was pure and sweet and yea like mine. He was fine. But it all happened so fast, and I was mad and I swear I meant to at least smile back. But the light turned and I pulled off. I didn’t even change my face.

Rachel Wagner is a writer from New Jersey, currently living in Newark with her son. She teaches at Seton Hall University and runs an online bookstore called Ten Dollar Books. More of her work can be found at Rachel-Wagner.com.

Featured Image: Lawrence Krayn – “Broad Street”, @Xquisite_Grit on Instagram