the boy .
she gets on and walks over to the seat, careful not to sit on the brown stuff whoever sat there before had left. the way she holds herself makes it obvious that she thinks she’s top shit. she looks at the brown mess (it looks sticky), disgusted, and shifts a little further over. because of this, she ends up right opposite me, and i can’t help but stare for just a second. i look down at my n95 and press a few buttons like there’s something interesting going on.
a jumpy sound catches my attention, but i look down. with my peripheral vision i can see her take out her own phone. it’s pink. she glides her fingers across the touch screen and texts a reply to the message and rolls her eyes. she puts the pink phone back in her bag, but before the message tone sounds again, she removes it, checking, seemingly paranoid.
i look at her legs.
she’s wearing shorts that extend just below her arse, and her thighs are pressing against the seat, which isn’t very flattering.
my gaze hovers up a little. there’s a peace sign on her tshirt. she probably likes to think she’s radical or something.
i hear the message tone and she’s reading a message again, but this time she doesn’t reply. she drops the phone into her bag and rummages around, probably for lipgloss or something.
she pulls out a nintendo ds. i raise my eyebrows. she glares at me. i look down.
the next time i look up she’s determinedly concentrating on the little contraption, jabbing the stylus at it so hard that i fear for the touch screen. she sniffs.
in her eyes, there’s a faint trace of tears. i see them build up, but just as quickly, she blinks them away. she sniffs again and her nose is red and i wonder whether i should offer her a tissue. actually, i don’t have any tissues. i stare at my n95, wondering if i should text in to mx.
any trace of the tears are gone now. she closes her eyes for a little longer than a blink, and gets up.
when the train starts again she’s gone.