Waiting at the bus stop, in that particularly SC weather that’s not rain exactly, yet much too heavy for fog. The kind that makes my hair go frizzing out every which way. Thick, wet mist that leaves droplets on my eyelashes. I think if I were a fern...I’m waiting for the bus, awash in perfect conditions for a happy fern.
On the bus, with every possible leave me alone social cue carefully in place. Sunglasses, earphones, book. Don’t talk to me. Let me be. Allow me these ten minutes of peace to piece myself together before I have to start being me again. It always startles me, how many people don’t read the signs, cut through all of my defenses with a determined shoulder tap. Whatcha reading?
Walking on my lunch break. The weather has flipped back from Chilly Autumn into Pleasant Sunny Spring. My mind wanders. I watch the sun glint off the ocean glass. In my head I tick off my endless list of Things To Do and Remember. I measure myself against other walkers, against runners. Could I run? I'd like, I think I'd like, to be a runner. Or maybe just to think of myself as a runner?
I don't know if I have enough time though, really.
Or maybe I do.
I don't know.
Maybe I don't really want to run.
On the bus, the nearly empty bus. I choose a window seat near the rear door. I rest my forehead on the glass and it feels cool and icy and hard and perfect. A girl with too much stuff and too loud music sits down next to me. Right, exactly, squashing me against the window, next to me. On a virtually empty bus. Why? Why would you do that?
At my stop, she has to stand up to let me leave. To let me get off a very nearly empty bus.