We used to be best friends, >>> and I. I didn’t think anything of us being together, until I was about fifteen. I had just started a new year in high school and decided that I was going to “up” my appearance a bit. I got a new hair do, upgraded my clothing, and tried my best to be a bit more “outgoing.” He decided to do the same. He bulked up a bit after playing football at his high school and decided to start shaving more and wearing more form-fitting clothes. Continue reading →
He seems like the kind of guy you could hold hands with in public. The kind of guy who isn’t ashamed to throw his arms around you when you’re walking down the street. He seems like the kind of guy who will purposely make loud smacking noises when he kissing you so you can feel a slight tinge of embarrassment and instinctively check over your shoulder to see if anyone is looking.
There was a young middle-aged looking man with sandy blonde hair and dark sun glasses. He looked Scandinavian in ancestry and wore a business shirt and trousers nearly about this moderate frame. He walked through the train, holding onto the pole with his disfigured hands. his fingers were unevenly spaced and looked somewhat arthritic. He held each pole as best as he could, as he must have grown accustomed to such a simple feat.
He caught sight of an empty seat and moved toward it. The man next to him with “normal” arms shared a courteous laugh or joke or pleasantry of some sort. They sat side by side, both with newspapers in their hands. The deformity of the blonde man with sunglasses extended pass his hands to his arms which were shortened and seemed to be missing elbow joints. Thus, they stuck out strain in front of him. He maneuvered through his newspaper (as he must have grown accustomed to) with ease flipping through and folding pages with no trouble at all for the rest of his transit.
There was a little Asian girl no more than twelve, whose metal filled smile was always beaming with sweet innocence. Long hair contained in a single low ponytail and bright round eyes behind her small framed glasses. Adorable. She was accompanied by an older while male, quite possibly in his late 40’s. Her adoptive father, maybe. He stood with her, talked to her and constantly made her laugh. He fixed her lunch sack on her arm. She groaned, the way children almost always do when their parents tell them to do something they don’t want to. He looked on her the way parents look over their children to make sure everything is OK to ensure that their bundle of joy is safe and sound.
We journeyed to the farther end of the beach where other locals hung out, away from the tourists who populated the areas that caught the most sun and had the most access to everything they could buy with their hard earned foreign money.
We laid in the sand for what seemed like hours…the warm kernels exfoliating our skin, my legs thrown carelessly and lovingly across his, my eyes closed, soaking up the feeling of cool air faintly trailing over our bodies. Continue reading →
There were three white boys sitting together: one with super curly “jew” hair, the other with more relaxed curls and the third with an “I’m-too-cool-for-super-jew-curls” low cut. The three all wore cargos and tees, two wore open-toes Birkenstocks, while the third wore skipper shoes you’d see on someone who was used to being in a life of privilege on a boat, or yacht or something. They spoke in moderately hushed tones and laughed quite a lot. With every influx of passengers, they huddled into a murmur and then laughed aloud. A girl, with breasts to spare, walked past in a strapless mini with a female and an effeminate male trailing close behind her.
The boys looked on at the girl. The one with moderate curls said something to the others. They laughed. Another set of teenage girls entered. A girl in a mini dress. Another girl in a striped shirt and pants and a third girl in half a shirt and short denim jeans with her pockets exposed underneath. The length of her pockets exceeded that of the actual pants. The boys looked on in wonder. They continued to look at the girls. They didn’t laugh much after that.
There was an old man sleeping, his cane lodged between him and the windowed side of the train her sat next to. His head was crouched low. He appeared dead most of the time, the frail old man. After a few stops, he jerked up, his words garbled for a bit. He looked at his watch.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“8.30,” a woman replied. He grumbled. A clear bottle of liquor appeared from out of his pocket. He took a swig, the faint smell of intoxication scented the neighboring air. He continued to grumble. When the train stopped, he grumbled again, then sucked his teeth. He continued to look at his watch. He would get to his destination late, if that was his complaint. If he truly had a destination. He pulled out his liquid companion and put the bottle to his mouth again. He took a smaller sip this time. Appeased, he tucked his head into his shoulder once more and went back to sleep.
There was a couple that occupied the two seater cornered of the train. The girl wore white Jordan sneakers while her counterpart wore black socks and open-toe adidas slippers – the footwear of champions. They laughed and smiled, holding hands and interlocking fingers. The girl slung her legs over the boy’s knees. They hugged and cuddled all the while laughing and exchanging looks of longing. The man that stood next to them tried to choke back laughter as he listened in on their conversation. They kissed, nuzzled, caressed fingers, kissed again, and again and when the girl yawned, the boy placed his hand to her mouth. They sat in their own universe as the train jerked back and forth. And when it was their stop, they kissed, held hands and walked out the train doors together.
There was an elderly white woman with a few slight grey whiskers on her chin and a sweet demeanor. She gathered her things to one side to make room on her seat in the moderately crammed car. She looked up and spoke, at first her words incoherent. When I finally removed my headphones, she said “I feel like I’m in Kindergarden, these seats are so low!” She laughed, the signs of age apparent on her teeth. A bushel of thinning white hair sat atop her head and a set of large clear framed glasses rested on her nose. From the style, it appeared that the 1980’s retro look was what she preferred in eye wear. She may have been a teacher, her bags filled with books and paper.
I had visions of a girl
dancing in the moonlight, on the orange-kissed earth.
Feathers at her feet, glitter in the air,
the scent of ripened raspberries combing her hair with
bits of leaves tangled in her mane.