Friday, February 14, 2003

She sat near the shuttlestop,

She sat near the shuttlestop, heavy on her bench.  Her face sagged with wrinkles and wattles; one eye sank into the hollow of its orbit in a ring of pink conjunctival irritation; the other eye just stared blankly forward and down.  Her shoulders slumped; her blouse and skirt hid, under a canopy of clean white cotton and blue print flowers, a vast and shapeless bulk.  Gravity seemed to be calling her home.  An alumininum walker waited beside her. 

The bus arrived.  We boarded.  The garrulous driver asked the woman, “Are you waiting for the medical shuttle?” (We were on our way to a medical center.) The woman looked up at her lugubriously.  “Nope,” she said, taking a deep drag on her cigarette, “I’m walking.” The doors closed.  We drove away.