I saw her on the way back home from work. Everyday. Just walkin’ by didn’t make me anyone special, but I wondered about her after a time. Sometimes she would look at her arm, or perhaps it was her wrist. Sometimes she was sippin’ something. Coffee, maybe tea. She seemed the type to like both. But I only saw her as I passed by her window. It was a cool minute. Sun comin’ down on the wall of her building. Shadows from the bridge cuttin’ over the corner store and the regulars poppin’ in and out. She was up and to the left. Her skin was the color of something baked. It looked sweetened with honey and chocolate chips.
Her skin was the color of something baked. It looked sweetened with honey and chocolate chips. Sometimes I would walk a little slower, trying to see her eyes. They were out of reach. I guessed at her expression. Always longing, and yet, strangely satisfied. She kept her hair wrapped in fabric, but she never wore earrings. It made her neck look regal. Her tops were always colorful, matching the magical headwraps. I decided to call her Grandma at some point. I never said it out loud, but in my mind, I always said “Hi Grandma,” to myself on the way under her window.
One day, I caught her eye. I smiled. It was a weak one. I was tired from a long week and the dude on the corner was tryin’ to get my phone number again, with his broke down mouth and dirty clothes. A girl gotta have standards. Anyway, I don’t know how I was able to tell, except this feeling of weight coming down from her window. The afternoon was paper, and she highlighted me in yellow. It wasn’t until I passed her window that I realized I’d been holding my breath. Wierd.
She says stop here. She’ll share more later.