Direction Man

The sun creeps over the palm tree and smog skyline, hits my forehead and draws a bead of sweat down my brow to the tip of my nose. I reach to dab it away. This early morning heat is more than I anticipated. Though my daily commute now consists of what may be called ‘a short walk’ of 15 minutes from my apartment to my office, I find that when I arrive at work, it is though I have just run a marathon wearing a plastic garbage bag. I adjust my Capezio dance bag and count down the minutes. I squint from behind a pair of sunglasses at the pavement ahead. I know what will happen on my way. It always happens, this coming moment, this transformation. One minute I am my normal, smallish self, trudging along toward the light, the next I am metamorphosed into something greater than the sum of my parts, some Oracle of information on two legs, a neon signpost of the mind, pointing the way for wayward citizens. I become Direction Man.

Today it is 9 minutes into my journey when I am summoned to my higher calling as Direction Man. With superhuman hearing, I sense a car approaching me from behind, traveling slowly, erratically, touristly. I lower my eyes and scrunch my neck down into my shoulders, an imaginary shell for my tortoise head. The car approaches cautiously. It rattles with the distinctive sound of a car made before the invention of fuel injection. I quicken my pace and furtively gaze ahead for signs of another pedestrian, someone with whom I can share this impending burden. There is a group of gardeners standing a football field’s length ahead. I begin to trot. Surely I can reach them before it’s too late. The car behind me rolls on and before I can duck into a garden or alleyway or sinkhole, it is upon me. a multicolored Chevy of some dubious origins bearing four occupants, all wearing hair from the early 90s, pulls directly along side me and squeaks to a stop. I can feel the blood boiling inside me, the inevitability of this moment. I am The Hulk, choiceless and afraid. Direction Man need only be summoned and I will be him.

“Excuse me! Can you tell us how to find the Hollywood Sign?” Just like that, Direction Man springs into action. He turns his torso, gleaming in the sun, to look at the lost travelers from afar, raises his glasses to look directly into their eyes and grows a smile a tour guide would be envious of. “We’ve been circling the neighborhood since 8am.” Four pairs of expectant eyes wait on Direction Man’s next move. Their plans are in his hands. Lucky for them, Direction Man has never met a geographical puzzle he couldn’t solve. He takes a breath and, as if reading it from a book, says, “Yes, you simply take this road which you are already on, continue east, which would be into the sun, and travel for approximately three miles. Once you have reached Beachwood Canyon, you must turn left, which would be north, and make your way into the beautiful Hollywood Hills. The sign is well guarded but as long as you have no untoward intentions, you should have no difficulty in accessing this glorious landmark of considerable history and meaning. Good day fair citizens. Now I must be off as there are many more folk just like you in need of help finding places of interest like Hooters and the freeway.”

A small gesture of thanks is all Direction Man needs. The car speeds off armed with a renewed sense of hope and disposable cameras with flash capability. Direction Man follows after them with his eyes, needing no sunglasses to dim the warmth of the generous rising sun. The smile he grew blossoms into fullness and then, in one fluid motion, withers and fades away.

I am so sweaty. I have lost four minutes. Why is it so bright? I pull my sunglasses down from head and over my eyes. I stand still for a moment to let my eyes adjust. Finally able to see clearly, I continue on. Damn you Direction Man! Damn you and your sense of duty, your sense of human compassion, your sense of…direction! I frown purposefully, regaining my inner equilibrium, my own sense of bitterness and suspicion of others. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent shouldered light and fluffy burdens compared to the weight of my own alter ego. Direction Man can never be stopped or killed or put to pasture. Every inquiry only makes him stronger.