Sunday, December 05, 2004

I was on the bus this afternoon, on my way downtown to see a movie. It feels a little funny to be doing things like that by myself, but since that's a situation entirely of my own making, it's something that I'll be getting used to. I was windblown and slightly curly-haired from all the moisture in the air, in grey with secret purple and green eyeshadow. (The movie that I was on the way to see was Closer, which suited my mood exactly and is extra-recommended if you are also in hidden purples and green eyeshadow.)
The casual observer, on the off chance that anyone was observing, would probably have believed that I was actually reading my Tolstoy. But I wasn't. I was staring idly out the window, thinking about how--as is usually the case--things in the past few weeks have gone in every direction except the ones I'd planned for. Recent interludes have left their marks and certain questions remain tingling in my fingertips until they can be answered. (Yes, Internet, I'm hiding things from you. Certain things belong between a girl and her typewriter, or at least a girl and her girlfriends over coffee.)
But the little girl sitting next to me was not a casual observer. She knew that although poor Ivan Ilytch was to be dying soon, I wasn't particularly interested. She looked up at me and said, "I like to bite my fingernails. What's your name?"
"Samantha's my name," I told her, "and I also like to bite my fingernails. What's your name?"
"Sarah. Is that a good book?"
"It is."
"Then why weren't you reading it?"
"Because I was thinking."
"Oh. I was thinking too."
"What were you thinking about?"
"Ponies." It's just at this interesting juncture that her mother rings the bell for the bus to stop, gathers their things together, and shuffles the girl out the door. I'd like to call after her and ask what color the pony was that she was thinking about, but before I can decide to do anything, the bus pulls away.
And now, you know, I'm thinking about ponies too.

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