July 28, 2011

Dance music blaring from her lap top: "Just gonna stand here and watch me burn"

Cradled in her lawn chair, feet propped up on the table in front of her. Computer on her knees; focused on the screen. Shaded from the setting sun by the tin awning over her head.

A dull and expressionless face stares into the computer--a statue. She is completely unaware of my presence--my existence. Focused on Facebook, and surfing, and music--blaring music; cacophonous music; bad-speaker-quality music.

She might be here for a while--brains slow when contending with such incessant noise.

A green and white recycling truck with a crisp clean exterior that gives an impression of environmental responsibility pulls away from the curb. A middle-aged woman in a black wind breaker gingerly approaches the sidewalk, huddled to protect her body's warmth from being blown away by the icy wind. She stops at the curb and stares for a moment at the little pieces of broken glass left there by the truck. She crushes the larger pieces under her foot, and quickly runs back to the house. But then, as though reconsidering (perhaps upon seeing my young daughter gleefully approaching on her red radio flyer tricycle), she hops back to the curb and begins pushing the glass shards into a pile with her sneaker. Turning her recycle bin upside down she places it overtop of the gathered glass (with a bold ignorance toward the plastic bin toppling abilities of the gusty breeze). Looking up at me with an apologetic expression, she mumbles something about her husband getting it later before hurrying back into the warm safety of her sturdy house.

An older woman sits at a table in the MacDonald's play place. Next to her is a tray of empty wrappers and a folded newspaper, which she does not read. She stares up at the play structure, watching the young boy she is responsible for. He calls her "aunt".

She beckons to the boy, who runs to her side. "Stay here," she says, "I'm going to get more coffee. I'll be back in a minute."