Kayla
TweetI often experience deep relationships with other people. Just
as often, the other person is not aware. I loved her before I saw her, maybe
even before she was born.
Her hair three inches on her shoulder, full, rich, waving with a life of its own, white like high gloss white craft paper, a sharp contrast to her oiled saddle leather eyebrows. Sharp brown eyes sunk in a pale ochre palette.
She had a ritual, there behind the register, when a customer
made her wait for change, or the transfer of money onto a payment card or maybe
for a daughter across the store puzzling over a snack for later in school.
Stepping back, she’d flip her hair right then left chin down, her small ochre
hand sensuously raking her hair from her face up and back. Hands come to the
counter, she’d rock a little, prepared for the customer’s next move.
The ballet, a thing of natural beauty like the moment I glance
an eagle float against a winter sky, or maybe the rain singing on my umbrella,
the moon chasing the stars across the early morning darkness.
In the chaos and clamor of predawn shoppers, most heading to
work, crowding her for their coffee and a breakfast sandwich, some thinking
ahead, a hoagie held tightly, still others pointing, demanding cigarettes, I
stand away holding her in the moment, watching the dance only I can see, me, an
enchanted traveler.
I glance the faces pushing in around me, all a degree of stoic,
many gripping their presents, the phone devouring attention, all ignorant of
the beauty playing out paces away, like those who never look to the sky seeing
the eagle float by or think the rain an inconvenience, a nuisance.
In those fleeting moments, I loved her wholly, deeply, without
reservation, as much as any human being could love another human being. Months
would pass, the universe granting me the gift often.
Then, she was gone.
October Ferguson