Saturday, November 04, 2006
I’ll blow a bubble the best I can and perhaps more than one, who knows... The bus stinks and I’m trying to avoid making eye contact with the old lady sitting across from me. It's hard to do because she has those eyes that don’t focus on the same point. One eye is staring intently at the empty seat next to me and the other is vaguely pointed at me. Her legs are spread in the casual manner 'Hey, it’s comfortable and I’m old, so if you feel you have to look up my dress go ahead, I won’t make a scene or try to stop you. Maybe she’s staring at me because she knows I can’t stop myself from looking at her or perhaps she's receiving some vicarious ego stroke in the knowledge that, for whatever reason, someone is still willing to look at her legs. Just above her knees, I can see the clasps of her ancient garter belts holding up her nylons and when her legs open slightly, suddenly I want someone to gouge my eyes out with an icepick. She could be the lady lying on the ground next to a car wreck before the ambulance comes, dying and there’s nothing you can do for her, and she looks up with eyes askew and grins... and still you can’t avoid looking at her. So I’ll look away, blow a bubble the best I can and try to avoid the impulse to cover her with a blanket.