It happens in unexpected ways, on lovely ordinary days and quiet bus rides home. Two men discussing cricket.. arguing over points or wickets or whatever it is they do. “My dad loves cricket.” I hear myself say.. to the window.. the girl in the glass.
“Grown men standing around on the grass all day.”
“You’d like it if you understood.” he’d say. So I’d sit a while and listen and watch his eyes glistening, glued to the screen, as he’d try to explain the mind-numbing game.
“Hmmmmm…” I’d say….and he’d wave me away with mock disdain. “You’re all like your mother. Go…play with your hair. Phone your friends and go somewhere.”
Incessant wind, howling over exterior walls. Treetop branches bent to cruel angles, don’t fall. Passing car.. heavy beat… otherwise the street is bare, save for the eerie atmosphere. Continue reading “The Wind”→
Elevator. Ascend. Thoughts of… nothing. Then, a friend. Long ago. Soft, ever-present ache. Vhooooooom…. reflected silence, smooth and cool, the back of my hand against the glass. The past is the past is my mountain, my hill, is an undissolved pill without resolution or hint of an end, remembering faces of long ago friends. BING! This is me. I straighten my dress and step out.