Down by the river

I nearly died to take this picture. What a waste that would have been.

Down by the riverbank two men embrace, their clinch lit by the dying embers of the day as the sun slumps below the New Brunswick skyline. One man passes the other a blue canvas bag. They nod to one another and pick up the bikes dumped by their feet.

I’m stood about 20 feet away from them, camera in hand, taking pictures of trees. I’m a real sucker for autumnal hues, you see.

One of the men starts to cycle towards me.

Oh f**k, he’s coming towards me!

I turn away, clench my buttocks and prepare for death, expecting the inevitable stab wound to come at any moment.

I’m going to get stabbed for taking a picture of a tree. This is so typical. He thinks I was taking pictures of him selling a sack of meth to that other man. And he’s going to stab me for it!  

In the corner of my eye I see the cycling man’s shadow approaching me purposefully, like a shark moving towards its prey.

What if he has a gun? He might just shoot me instead! I’d far rather he just stabbed me … getting stabbed just seems less painful … If I live I definitely have to google search ‘is getting shot more painful than being stabbed?’ … I mean, someone has to know.

The cycling shadow grows larger, its wheel spokes spinning the dark rider closer and closer.

Maybe I should just run … but if I run there’s a chance he’ll get angry and stab me more savagely … or shoot me more than once if he’s got a gun … if I just stay here and accept that he’s going to kill me maybe he’ll be more merciful? Perhaps he’ll acknowledge that I’ve tried not to inconvenience him and make it fast.

I glance to my side see and that the umbra is upon me, an ink black storm of pedals, handlebars, spokes and imaginary shivs. My muscles contort, anchoring me to the kill zone. I wait for the cold blade to pierce my kidney.

Why isn’t my life flashing before my eyes?

A metallic squall whirls past and the cyclist rips off into the distance, the blue canvas bag slung over his shoulder.

I’m alive! … But now I feel really foolish for thinking all of those irrational thoughts.

Slowly my buttocks unclench, my arse cheeks sinking like a pair of setting suns.

***

After this brush with death I went back to taking pictures, reasoning that the chances of stumbling into a second drug deal where slim. And I’m glad that I did because the truth is that, even if ugly things do happen here, the banks of the Raritan river are still beautiful.