She was 10, I think. Her coach made a statement that she was stressed and she had told the mom that it would make her daughter a better cheerleader if she cut back on the lessons. Her mother couldn't fathom that.
I wonder, 4 years later, does that girl talk to her mother now or just slam the door?
Sometimes I think about the woman at the bottle depot shop. She always grunts her answers with a frown on her face. As I ask her questions about herself and she responds bitterly to each one, I ask myself, "Why is she so mad at life? Why is she working at a job she hates so much?"
She owns it. Another situation of rock and hard place, I guess. She lives for the month of November when they go the Dominican.
As I drive away from the bottle depot, frustrated that they close down while they are gone, I wonder if she's happy. I can't picture her with a smile, though.
How random that there is a diaper left on the sidewalk. Did someone just leave it there on purpose? Was it an exasperated mother who couldn't take the stress of changing a baby in the car and as a small token of sharing her pain with the world she tossed it out of the moving vehicle and didn't care that it littered the roadside? I mean, how does a diaper get on the sidewalk?
Frost on the grass eking out an existence until the sun's rays consume it. A brilliant, short reminder that life is brief. I almost miss small things like that because I'm too busy, it seems, washing my dishes to pay attention to the world outside my window.
We all see things and wonder. We all make up stories in our head.
That's why everyone can write a novel.