"Can't take things out, without putting something positive back in..." says an attractive child-like, woman in her late 50's early 60's. She straightens her light gray wool blazer, tugging it towards her hips, smoothing out her dark green capri slacks. I watch her intently as she looks around, seeing something that no one else does, talking to no one in particular.
She is at one of many tables on the patio at Starbucks, in her own little world. Miss Lady picks up a worn-out, yellowed newspaper, "You know when I bought this?" she asks someone (whom I cannot see, in the wide open, near empty area). She adjusts her ill-fitted reading glasses, reading the date out loud, her tone matter-of-fact, "September 15th." Folds it, lays it back down. "I've been here two hours. Two hours I've been here. Yes. I need to mail something at the post office. It needs to be there tomorrow, I could mail it today, but yesterday would be better than today...."
In this self inflicted state of denial where she resides... it looks wonderful as I sit at a near by table, even if I'm only catching a glimpse of what makes her happy. An old wrinkled children's activity book lies at the edge of her world, pushing slightly in my direction. I'm sure these have given her an exceeding amount of entertainment and company during her lonely days.... The colors of her world are bleeding through the fabric of my reality, exponentially.
Her three foot of personal space includes Elmers glue, a box of colored markers, a note book... several half smoked cigarette butts carefully arranged on a clear plastic lid... clutter our reality, but to her, they are the only friends she knows. I watch her as she speaks to one of the characters, telling it, "You stay right there, I have to go get your friends... " Lovingly touching the paper as if she's petting fur, she steps away to gather "his friends" who have flown on to the ground. Picking them up from the dirty concrete, "I'll take care of you, like I didn't before,I should have," brushing the dirt from their colorful little faces, hugging them, "I'm sorry..."
Looking at the petite woman, she reminds me of a seven year old little girl, playing "Dress Up" in her mommy's clothes, shoes, and make up. The hat atop her head, something of safari style. Her mascara seems to have been applied meticulously, yet smudged over the top of her eyes as if she sneezed directly afterwards.
I continuously watch her for several minutes, as did the other two onlookers. We're engrossed and enthralled, and can't seem to take our eyes off of her, nor stop listening to her rambling non-sense.
Why? (shaking my head) I have no idea. She intrigued all of us for a few moments of our lives... letting us escape the pressures of people and daily chaos and the sounds of buses and horns. ... To hear the melodic entrancing lullaby which she sings on a daily basis, captivating her audience unintentionally, during this performance.
The Lot of us, we had our own private play, in our own private 12 foot of space. We've just shared the mind of another, without even realizing it, until it was over. One by one we left, leaving her without saying good bye, so that one day, we will still have unfinished business. We may, yet again meet... when our minds (on that day) are restless and need a pair of scissors to cut the fabric of our pandemonious and self-imposed vandilistic lifestyles.... . She can laso a rope around us and pull us into her delightful world, renewing our love for life and enjoy the blessings bestowed upon us.
Copyright (c) 2007 by Angela A. Holladay
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