Transparent Story
Matthew Ryan Fischer
People were always confused by Hansel’s nationality;
it was a problem that had haunted him his entire life. His father was from Argentina and his mother
was Portuguese. His Grandparents spread
out across the globe even further with a Grandfather from Germany and a
Grandmother Italy. It was an eclectic mix. Hansel didn’t care much for genealogy, but
part of him had always been curious how people from so far apart had so quickly
come together.
Hansel’s face was as much a mixture as the parts of
his family. He had a dark tanned skin
that could be confused for Mexican American, Italian or African American. Strangers had called him all three and not
always in a kind or pleasant way. Hansel
considered himself an American, or more aptly a New Yorker. Still, he knew a great many people didn’t see
him so innocuously.
Hansel had been walking all day. It was a hot day. His feet were tired and his throat felt
dry. He supposed he
should be more tired than he felt, and for that he was thankful, but he was
still unhappy walking in the hot sun. It
was the sort of day that ice cold beers and couches on shaded porches were
invented for. He could almost taste the
beer on his lips. Soon, he told
himself. Soon he would stop. But for now he trudged on.
Hansel had been ignored before. He had had people gaze at him with hatred and
prejudice. It bothered him, but he had
lived through it and would live through it again. This was different. This was uglier, he thought. Sometimes a person would catch his eye and
then quickly look away, embarrassed that they had been caught revealing too
much of their inner thoughts. Others
didn’t care about trying to hide their hatred.
The cold eyes were the eyes he hated most – the people that tried to
focus on some point just beyond him so they didn’t really look at him as they
passed. Their eyes always looked a
little too distant and forced and always gave themselves away.
Today was different.
Today make the cold eyes look warm.
These people looked right through him like they didn’t even care. They didn’t even have rancor enough to insult
him, they just had indifference. It was
like he didn’t even exist to them at all.
Hansel tried to smile though it.
Hansel sat at the counter in the diner and waited on
service that never came. He wanted to
yell or scream. He wanted to pick up a
glass and smash it against the counter.
He wanted to do something.
Hansel sat there, dejected.
The people just acted like he wasn’t even there.
After a short rest Hansel composed himself and
headed for the door. He still had a long
hot walk ahead of him before he could finally catch his breath.
The road was long and the day was hot and dry and
dust kicked up in the wind. There were a
few scattered footprints in the dirt, but other than that, it was almost as if
Hansel had never been there at all.
No comments:
Post a Comment