On the train, again. The sun leaps through the windows in warm flashes as we barrel past blurry palm trees and trashed shacks that sprout up in the corners of the rice paddies. It already feels like summer. I am thankful for the air conditioned car. My backpack presses against my shoulders where my shirt is already damp with sweat. I can feel the eyes on me, making me prickle and blush. Some days it bothers me more than others.
On the bench across from me there is a middle-aged businessman with an enormous stuffed panda bear on his lap, suffocating in a tight plastic bag. Standing near the door, waiting for the next stop, a woman is wearing what can only be described as a tight shirt. It barely covers her bum. She balances precariously on stilettos at mid-day. She is clearly in the third trimester of pregnancy. I'm embarrassed for her.
Around the car, young people sport an array of wild hair styles, jagged cuts that make their coarse black manes stick out in every direction, spiked to new heights with the help of purple-tinted gel.
I notice leopard-print pumps paired with tartan leggings, leather jackets over appliqued sweaters, outfits that would be suited to attend a party themed "What Not to Wear from the 70's, 80's, and 90's."
And despite all of those other interesting things to see... people still stare at me, allowing their eyes to roam from my head to my shoes and back, comfortably observing me for minutes at a time. Me, in my simple jeans and t-shirt, my backpack, my downcast eyes and my attempts to blend into the wall. Even when I look up and meet their gaze with my strange (?) blue eyes, they don't look away.
I plug my ears with my headphones and turn my iPod volume up, and then I squeeze my eyes shut. I've realized the same logic as a child playing hide-and-seek: if I can't see you, you can't see me.
2 comments:
ahh, here the ever elusive elly gives us a diamond shape story of her journey. well done with such fine details...I only foolishly assume this is for a book or memoir...if not you have us all stumbling bumbling
over the fact that you write with such fury, as if, the pen must get down every aspect of what the eyes see
or the scene is so engraved on yr memory you painted on the page. Well done sisiter....this gets a five star rating!!! kepp up the good work.
i'd give it a five star rating too, and weirdly how i felt like i was on the bus (unairconditioned though) in mexico, with pregnant or not pregnant (couldn't quite tell!) women in tight shirts, stiletto heels, make up that i wear to halloween parties, etc. etc. etc... and yet they looked at me too.
beautifully written, unfortunate how people stare i guess
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