The other night (Tuesday)  I was walking home after a late supper. It was just before midnight and Anita Baker and I were contemplating some high notes on No More Tears. I knew she would reach them and I wouldn’t. Not even in my head.  My one thing about London is that it is relatively safe at night. I can walk without too much stress or worry.

Suddenly out of nowhere a man jumped in front of me. I would say he was mid 40s, Caucasian, overweight but still able to be relatively nimble on his feet judging by the jump and staring at me intently. I quickly assume the woman under attack pose. I raise a hand to my chest and grip my bag more closely. It’s a universal pose that says “What the fuck is going on here?”

Then he starts to move…..into a signature Bolt pose.

I look perplexed. The Olympics are over. Am I supposed to think that every late night walker is still reliving the highlights? And why does he think this is appropriate stranger behaviour?

He strikes his pose for a couple of seconds before mumbing “Bolt! Huh? Yeah!!” a few times.

I get it. I’m black therefore as excited as he is to share his Bolt pose on the street. All I know is that I was scared shitless by a stranger for no good reason.

He walks off patting my shoulder as he passes. I immediately check to see if he somehow lifted my purse. But no this is just a random act of sports related happiness.

I have two thioughts

1)      I wonder if he jumped anyone else that Tuesday night.

2)      I miss black cabs.

Please can we just stop these random acts? I don’t think my heart can take it.

© Chelsea Black

 

Chelsea Black is a writer. Romantically seeking her Fubo (future boyfriend) she often gets distracted by misadventures. She is currently working on her second book, first baby (sperm to be confirmed) and first real career. Chocolate and cocktails are food groups