4:30 AM- The alarm goes off. To be honest, I don't notice right away. I almost never hear it go off. I can design a web-page, speak Swahili and drive a stick-shift but I have been defeated so far by the intellectual challenge of my clock-radio. I can't figure out how to select the buzzer OR the music setting - they both go off simultaneously every morning. It's humbling.
I lay awake and groggy for a moment, staring at my ceiling, listening to the sound of Beethoven conducting his 5th Symphony with someone's car alarm going off in the background.
I continue staring at the ceiling, thinking deep thoughts, important thoughts...
"If I get up REALLY quickly right now, I can slap the snooze alarm and be back under the covers before I wake up completely..."
A moment's thought convinces me that that would be a futile gesture - I'd only have to get up again in another 10 minutes and listen to the sound of Aaron Copland having an illicit affair with the Roadrunner and nobody needs that. With an agonizing effort, I manage to roll out of bed with a thud and stagger to my feet. I drag myself to the alarm clock, which I eventually manage to turn off, but not before I accidentally set the time ahead by two hours. I shrug, then turn the clock face to the floor so it won't mock me. I briefly consider getting dressed to go to the gym, but think better of it. The gym will be there tomorrow, I tell myself.
Half an hour later, shaved, showered and dressed, I stumble my way down the stairs to my car.
God help me, I really like Manchester at five in the morning. The stars are crisp, the moon is bright - and yet, at the same time, it is too dark to actually see my apartment building very well. Given that I live in the single ugliest building in New England, this is a special
blessing. I get in my car, waste approximately a pint of windshield washer fluid in lieu of actually scraping my window, then pull out of the driveway.
We are a lonely and special brotherhood, those of us who travel Manchester's streets an hour or two before dawn. In these, the emptiest hours of the day, we have a special bond. We own the streets; this is OUR time - the cops, the contractors and me.
And this morning, a hitchhiker.
She stands in the cold morning air, her thumb out, shivering. I think for a split second about whether I should stop or not, then pull over to give her a lift. I've been out in the cold, hitchhiking to work too many mornings myself. "What kind of trouble could I get in at this time of day anyway", I reason. "It's too early for the thugs and murderers to be out." This is the same logic that got me mugged at knife point one morning in Nairobi, but 5 am is not the time for logic, so I unlock the door and let her in.
She slides into the passenger's seat and shuts the door. The car immediately fills up with beer fumes, but I don't ask questions. The Brotherhood of 5 AM is a trusting one.
"Good morning," I say. "I'm headed up toward the highway. I can drop you anywhere along there."
My passenger turns to me with a dazed and confused expression. "Oh wow," she says. "The highway? I need to go down by the library!"
"Then why were you on the road out of town, facing the wrong way?" I almost ask, but stop myself. 5 am is not the time for arguments. I look both ways, then make a U-turn and head downtown.
My passenger is silent for a moment, then asks in an oddly familiar voice, "Hey, do you want some company?"
For a moment, I'm not quite sure what she means - I've just picked up a hichhiker - that IS company, isn't it? It's strange that I should recognize a stranger's voice in Manchester though - I've lived here about three months and have only met a handful of people, very few of whom would be hitchhiking at five in the morning. I turn my head to get a good look at her. She looks oddly familiar.
"Cause, we could, you know... go somewhere..." she says blurrily.
That clinches it - I suddenly know where I've met her. She is the "small business operator" I met late one night under a lamp post. Although I hadn't actually transacted any business with her, I remember having felt warm and gratified that the spirit of entrepreneurship and customer service was alive and well in Manchester. I am even less likely to throw any business her way now, on my way to work, but at the same time, I don't want to hurt her feelings. 5 am is not the time for hurt feelings.
"No thanks," I tell her. "I'm late for work. Thanks anyway, though." I smile and continue driving.
My friend is silent for a moment - obviously thinking very hard, then makes me a surprisingly frank offer, an unexpected offer, an offer that her dental hygienist would certainly look askance at.
Apparently, 5 am IS the time for shocking propositions.
Laughing, I tell her thanks, but no thanks.
"You know, we've met before," I tell her.
"Oh yeah?" she says, with a remarkable lack of interest, thinks for another moment, then makes an offer even more generous and shocking than the one before. She repeats this pattern for the next six blocks until I drop her off.
I drive away from her in a thoroughly distracted state of mind and head back toward the highway.
All the other drivers are jerks - this is what happens when you drive so late in the morning. The Brotherhood of 5:30 just don't share that same special bond.
