Wednesday, February 23, 2011

I Saw Her That One Time

I saw her that one time. It was on a rush hour Metro train, from Gateshead to Monument. She was wearing a long black skirt and shin-high apocalypse boots, a tight black T-Shirt with a dark green parka thrown over the top. There was a single red ruby piercing in her right - or was it the left? - nostril, catching the cruel light from the ceiling fittings. Her skin was pale, apart from the dark circles painted around her large green eyes. Her lips were bright red.

I watched her over my battered copy of Kerouac as she ate her Monster Munch crisps; she took them from the packet one at a time, taking a tiny, delicate bite from each yellow shape until it was gone. Only then did she reach for another. It was 8:30am - I always did like a woman who ate crisps for breakfast.

All too soon it was my stop, so I stood up, placed my book in my bag, and got off the train.

I stood on the platform and watched the grubby yellow shuttle depart, catching sight of her again through the scarmy window. She glanced up and smiled, but not at me. It was just a casual gesture - a rogue expression that crossed her face in a flash. She didn't even notice I was there. Her eyes stared right through me.

I saw her that one time, but one time was enough.

1 comment:

Paul D. Brazill said...

Now, that could go a few ways. very good.