Lacking Conversation
Every day, he saw her reading on the bus. Some days it was a music magazine - always indie. Filter, or Blender, or Under the Radar - nothing mainstream, nothing so vulgar as to be sold in Wal-Mart or Target. Other days, she read books by dead men - Dante's Inferno, Shakespeare's King Lear, JD Salinger - was Salinger dead? He didn't know for sure, but he knew that the way she licked her finger before turning the pages sent shivers up his spine. Some days she didn't read at all - and those were the days he loved her most. It was on those days he thought she might finally look his way. He always sat behind her, and she never failed to wear that misshapen thrift-store gray hat that didn't give her much peripheral vision - but he never gave up hope.
He fancied that they'd strike up a conversation - over music, over dead authors (or potentially but not certainly dead authors, as the case may be). But he never could quite bring himself to break the silence. Until today. Today, when she took off her hat - brushed her fingers through her long red hair and looked over her shoulder.
He froze as she turned his way, all his muscles tightening with anticipation as she smiled.
"Hello," he managed finally, long after she had already turned back around.
"Why hello, young man," said the elderly lady who sat in the seat on the other side of the aisle. He nodded politely. Before long, he found himself on the receiving end of a long dissertation consisting primarily of 'when I was your age' - and the lovely girl of his dreams was getting off at her stop. Tomorrow, he thought, as he nodded along to the doddering talk without really listening. Tomorrow for sure.
He fancied that they'd strike up a conversation - over music, over dead authors (or potentially but not certainly dead authors, as the case may be). But he never could quite bring himself to break the silence. Until today. Today, when she took off her hat - brushed her fingers through her long red hair and looked over her shoulder.
He froze as she turned his way, all his muscles tightening with anticipation as she smiled.
"Hello," he managed finally, long after she had already turned back around.
"Why hello, young man," said the elderly lady who sat in the seat on the other side of the aisle. He nodded politely. Before long, he found himself on the receiving end of a long dissertation consisting primarily of 'when I was your age' - and the lovely girl of his dreams was getting off at her stop. Tomorrow, he thought, as he nodded along to the doddering talk without really listening. Tomorrow for sure.