Untitled Musings #6.5

I didn’t want to believe that he got that bruised eye in a fight. His face was too sweet for that. His downy soft baby blues were those that could only belong to the gentlest of God’s creatures. Maybe he got in an accident…a rousing game of football maybe? His six-year-old niece or nephew accidentally hit him with an elbow. He was a bit miffed at the time, but held back his anger toward the paid to not scare the kid. Or maybe his cute but clumsy girlfriend mistakenly punched a bit too hard while they pretended to fight in their cozy one bedroom apartment. His clothes alone made him seem like a seemingly pacifistic person: grey wool jacket, colorful plaid shirt, coifed hair kept disheveled by the headphones over his head. Anyone that peaceful looking couldn’t get a bruise like that in a heated rage filled fight.

His knuckles showed no sign of bruising…except for a cut on the knuckle of the index finger of his right hand. No one carefully shooting through his MP3 player looking for a train ride selection could’ve gotten that bruise on his eye in a fight. No one with a big brown satchel, possibly filled with books, music, an old sweaty gym shirt and towel could’ve gotten that eye bruised in any way that wasn’t purely by mistake.

Micro-Story – There Once Was: Older Woman

There was an elderly white woman with a few slight grey whiskers on her chin and a sweet demeanor. She gathered her things to one side to make room on her seat in the moderately crammed car. She looked up and spoke, at first her words incoherent. When I finally removed my headphones, she said “I feel like I’m in Kindergarden, these seats are so low!” She laughed, the signs of age apparent on her teeth. A bushel of thinning white hair sat atop her head and a set of large clear framed glasses rested on her nose. From the style, it appeared that the 1980’s retro look was what she preferred in eye wear. She may have been a teacher, her bags filled with books and paper.