The Little Red Hat

Sleepless Days
“Wake me up when it’s over. Wake me up when it’s all done. I’ll stay asleep until it’s over. Or I’ll sleep until you come.
“I close my eyes. Drift back to darkness. I’ll sleep until the day is done Stay away and keep the sunlight hidden. Don’t bring that smile near me. Stay away and take the sun’s light with you. Don’t let it hit my skin.
“You never come alone. You bring a brightness, a ray of shining light that dries away the water that swells my thoughts.
“I drown without you, Sunshine. But I don’t care. I want you to stay away from me. Stay away. Stay away.
“I close my eyes and let my head fall back. There you are.
“Wash away the tears that stream past my cheeks. You can’t. You are never there. Wipe away the pain that is carried by my cry. Please. Tell me why you aren’t ever there. Explain why the day passes and the sun must set. Why must the night fall and take your sunlight away from me? Tell me, why do moments flee? Come back. Come back. Come back to me.
“Wake me when it’s over; I’d rather sleep through the day. Wake me when it’s over or wake me when it rains.
“I dream of you, bright yellow hue.
“Your beams of light penetrate my brick wall.
“My heart screams for you to stay away- but you always seep through.
“My heart begs for loneliness. My heart begs for solitude. My heart yearns for a cloudy day when life brings no promise of a sunny tomorrow.
“Be still, be calm.
“Go away. Go away. Go away. Don’t come if you’ll go. Don’t bring your ray only to have it slip away. Bring no promise of tomorrow. A moment of your glow always brings an eternity of darkness. So don’t come at all. Don’t come at all. Don’t come back to me another time unless you promise this time to stay.
“Wake me up if it’s forever, or don’t wake me up at all.”
I read these lines over and over again. She didn’t record dates atop the entries but I did notice a recurring theme: I felt the feeling that her love was unrequited.
Loneliness filled the pages. Quiet desperation, a yearning to have her love reciprocated, a mourning of life unworthy of living – she was a lost soul. She was lost only to be found when she was in the arms of the man she described in these pages. Pages he would never read.
He came in and out of her life like a drifter, leaving her to wallow in the memories they spent sewing whilst together. He would depart and her pen was all she had that kept the memory of him alive.
He erased her character- when he was not around she was faceless. He robbed her of her life- when he would leave she was nameless. An anonym even to herself.
His kiss would moisten her lips, but when he would turn to go her mouth would wither and dry up. How could he claim to have loved her if he knew this is how he left her?

Little Red Hat
Red hat. Hound’s tooth pants. Stain marked grey blouse. Trench coat tied at the waist. Five plastic bags and counting.
Even from a distance I could see this woman’s sunspot, sunken and misshapen body. She looked older than she probably was. She looked used and battered. From across the street I could see the struggle her life had become; I could see the days worn on her face. Insignificantly going through the motions of everyday life so as to pass the days until she would eventually die. Other than the fact that she is old, tired and completely alone, what else did I really know about her?
I observed her steady schedule every day of the week as she walked past my boutique shop. I watched as she trod wearily carrying what seemed to be her life’s belongings around from shop to shop scanning items off hangers and glass-encased jewels. She shopped. All day long she went around sifting through the new trends. Never once did I catch her take anything off a shelf; never once did she try anything on. She just browsed. I don’t know where she was when she wasn’t here; where she went when stores closed, but I knew that I couldn’t take my eyes off of her as she routinely walked through the mall doors five days a week at opening until closing hours.
She kept her mouth open as she trudged around, breathing deeply; she bobbled her head front and back with each step. She never took an interest in anyone that was around her. She didn’t watch them and she didn’t seem to notice whether anyone watched her or not. She didn’t mind the countless hours I spent vigilantly gawking at her through my glass store door. I was fiercely intrigued by her. Her five-foot-two frame; her skeletal and dirty body; meek and ragged. I couldn’t help myself- not only did I spend my days rudely staring but I passed judgment as well. I would make up tall tales and crass theories that I would stick to her unapologetically. She stared back sometimes. I saw her see me. The way she looked at me wasn’t comfortable; she did it with a borrowed sense of entitlement.
Her teeth. Her mouth. Her tired eyes. Her wrinkled face; a porthole into her lifeless soul. Her stale skin blackened and spotted by over-exposure to the sun. A mindless body; a sorry excuse for a life. She contributed nothing to society- she was nothing but a reference for those around her- a reminder of what could happen if…
I never saw her sift through garbage for food and I never saw her eat. She never had a cigarette in her hand nor was she perfumed with smoke. She didn’t beg for money, she didn’t ask for hand-outs and she never picked at cafeteria leftovers. She didn’t collect empty bottles and she never smelled like alcohol. She wasn’t like the other bag ladies- I don’t even know if she was homeless. It seemed to me as though she still had a sense of dignity left in her. She simply window-shopped. Walked and shopped. All daylong. Unlike other people that took to the streets, sitting in a store entranceway or hanging out in an alley, she was not to be found once the sun went down. Her street life was exclusive to the daytime. Much like any other housewife or jobless member of society she went about her day fulfilling self-assigned errands- her behavior did not stand out. What did stick out however, was her dress and non-social tact. Due to an obvious lack of funds, she surely did not contribute to our recessed economy. That stuck out too.
She always wore her little red hat. It kind of resembled a beret. She wore it dead on and centered over her short and straggly whitish hair. She fascinated me, but more than that- she scared me. Watching her everyday saddened me with a deep fear of the possibilities in life. She wasn’t born dirty, alone and dead in the eyes. How did she let herself become the person she is now? What happened throughout her lifetime that brought her to the place she is at right now? Does anyone know her or care for her? Why hasn’t she given up?
Why haven’t I?

Sabine
It was early spring, the flowers were in full bloom and the weather was no longer cool. A warm breeze qualified the air and for the first time on this northeastern sea front, people were holding their heads up as they brushed past each other in the streets. It was the first time in a long while that I was out of that mall, walking in the streets, conscious of peoples’ eyes on me. It was the first time I was aware of what I must have looked like to them. It was the first time I saw them see me.
After a long and dreadful winter season, people forget how great it truly is to be able to walk outside without haste. To simply walk and be delighted to have the sun hit your skin- people forget. Summer or winter I never changed- I wore the same pants and blouse day in and day out. I didn’t have the luxury of changing my clothing everyday- I was stuck in that lousy mall walking around aimlessly so as to pass the gruelingly long days anyhow. So, it didn’t matter how I dressed. I walked through that mall so as to delay the moment that inevitably comes at the end of each day, the moment when I would be alone.
That day was the beginning of a new day. I would no longer trudge through mall quarters; instead I would walk in the sunlight. I would hold my head up today. Perhaps I would even find a bathroom, wash my face and brush my hair and treat myself to a little priming. I deserved more than being cooped up all day being stared at by shop girls and the like. I deserved more than the judgment she spewed.
What made that day that much more special were the memories I would be making. I was about to live out a moment in which I couldn’t wait to indulge. He was on his way. Today was the day I would meet him and no longer wait for time to pass but rather would hope for time to stand still. Days were no longer arbitrary; no longer obstacles in the way of much anticipated moments. He was on his way. That day would mean something.
The sun wasn’t just shining, it was blaring as it filled the roads with a bright yellow hue. Such a jolly morning. I was enthused to see people’s faces in contrast to the tops of their heads as they tried to shield themselves from the ghastly winter wind. I remember I had actually looked them in the eye with eager confidence as opposed to the self-consciousness with which I had grown accustomed. He was on his way and that made me feel as though I had a reason to feel happy again. He was on his way to see me.
What had gotten me through the day was that within mere hours I would see his face again. I would see him and that would make it all worthwhile. Seeing him see me- I would once again know my worth. The time lost between his visits was exactly that: lost. But he was on his way and I believed that maybe this time he would stay.
Life passed so slowly when he was not there next to me. However, knowing that he was pulling into the station soon had already erased my memory of the months that I had just lived through; better yet, barely lived through. I knew that it was just a few days, but his visits always brought a rejuvenating quality that completed me. He would come and I would forget the lifeless time I trudged through awaiting his return. His presence injected life into me; without him I withered. He was on his way.

My Dear Sabine
I have been thinking about my dear Sabine for many reasons, but most importantly, because of the state of her apartment. Who had Sabine become?
It became clear to me upon arrival that her place had not been lived in for what seemed like years. The wood floors are salt-stained and covered in filth and dust. The couch and table have been left turned over and unkempt, not to mention the chairs that have been broken to pieces. The horrid stench coming from both the bathroom and kitchen also reveal a certain number of absentee years on her part. When I called to tell her that I would be visiting, she seemed desperately eager to host my stay, but she failed to mention the disarray of the apartment she would be leaving to me. Maybe she wanted me to stay at her place so as to reveal to me the life she lead between our meetings, so as to show me the life she lead outside of me. She used to live such a clean and beautiful life. The darkness that qualifies this place is indescribable- I don’t think this is her home anymore, from what I smell this place has not been lived in or visited in a long, dark while. Either way, I find it odd that she didn’t mention the state in which she was leaving the place nor did she mention at the station that she wouldn’t be joining me. Like I said earlier, it is not about the broken-down conditions of her life that I’m trying to understand, but rather whether there was a life in the first place.
A long time had passed since our last encounter and I was looking forward to this trip for a while now. I thought it would be like the other times, but here I am now, alone. I am standing in her apartment alone, contemplating the choices I made in my life. What will my life be now without her?
I met her at the station. It seemed as though she had been patiently waiting for hours, however her patience seemed feigned, as though she were waiting so that she could leave me the key and be on with her day. She wanted nothing to do with me that day. Her demeanor was so drastically different today from our other reunions. I guess she wasn’t as excited by my arrival as she used to be; she was simply impatient to be done with me. Quite the contradiction I sensed from her from that phone call. As I made my descent from the train, she stood still and waved me over. She looked neatly put together: slimming black pants, pleated and properly ironed, a ruffled beige blouse covered by an overcoat- belted at the waist. She smelled like candy, a gentle body mist that had been sprayed at the last minute, I could tell. She looked like the poster-girl for youth and beauty. Everything was right in place, especially the tremendous smile that flashed her perfectly white teeth. She always carried an air of humanity with her unattainable, muse-like perfection. Thinking about it now, it seems confusing that such an image of physical excellence could live in such disheveled conditions. I can’t imagine how it is possible. How this apartment could house a person like her.
She kissed me ‘hello’ in a French manner and explained to me that she was in a hurry. She quickly walked me through the alarm code and key sequence, as if I didn’t remember. I didn’t think anything of it at the time but when I asked if there was food in the apartment or if I should pick up some dinner for us on my way she neglected to answer me. I asked when she would be back but she failed to answer that as well. I still can’t quite make out what all of this means. She had tried to explain to me that when I am not near her life stands still. She had mentioned before that her life without me is no life at all. She compared the days spent without me to the “moments in-between the moments”. I never knew what she meant, but I guess she truly meant it. I don’t know if this apartment parallels the life she lead but it definitely reflects how it feels now inside of me knowing that she has let herself come to this. I feel now the emptiness she once described.
I have known her many years and had always loved not simply the mere sight of her but also the softness she carried within. She stood delicately and elegantly. Each step she took graced the pavement with her poise. She had always been a beauty incarnate. I am desperately and incurably depressed to think that her sweet angelic soul has been housed by this putrid place. I am utterly ashamed that I let her slip into wastefulness while I kept on filling my days with distractions. She didn’t have to be an occasion. She didn’t have to be a moment here and there. I didn’t have to keep her as my getaway. She could have been my everyday.
It has been but a moment that I have been here, sitting, waiting for her to arrive. A quick glance has revealed a lifetime of truths. I will sit here and continue to wait. When she returns home to join me we will flee together- this place isn’t fit for her. I must provide for her the life she deserves. I must feed her the love she needs to live. She can’t go on living like this. My eyes are opened now. I see what I mean to her – I will save her.

Bleh
What it really means. What it all really means.
How can I have even begun to answer that?
I rummaged through my purse to find a pen. I held it in one hand lightly tapping it against the other; where should I start?
Lately I have been exposed to some things that have left me wondering about what it all really means. I have been seeing this woman for the past couple of months, hopelessly and meaninglessly living her life before my eyes. Before I began watching her, I had never given much thought as to the whys of the world. I had never thought about a person’s purpose in the world or how life’s choices bring us to certain places while others lead us elsewhere. I watched her in quiet contemplation and I am forced to think about how a tragic series of events cost this woman to lose her life; to lose her own personal meaning to life. Her only purpose now is to serve as the object of my surveillance. She is my study object. Without her I wouldn’t have what to do all day, sitting in a shop where no one ever comes in.
I look at her and think about whom she was before she resorted to living out of her plastic bags and giant overcoat. I look at her and wonder where she goes at the end of the day- when mall doors close and it is cold and raining outside. Does she have anyone she speaks to about the happenings of her day? Does she notice the world unfolding around her as she aimlessly trudges through life? Does she care?
Who is she? Is she something to someone?
Who was she before she was no one?
What does it all really mean? I uncapped my ballpoint and started scribbling on the notepad on my cash counter: red hat, dirty blouse, hound’s tooth pants. I tapped the end of my pen rhythmically, propping my chin up with my other hand. I was lost in a daydream about the purposeless woman that gives my life purpose everyday. Without her what would I do in this lonely, unfrequented boutique? I looked up to find my little old lady.
Where had she gone?


Silent Dance
I blinked. I closed my eyes for a split second and I lost her. Now I won’t ever know where she goes every night. I won’t know where she spends her evenings after the shops close. I can’t believe I lost her.
I blinked once, but I learn fast. I won’t ever blink again. Tomorrow, when it is time to close up I will be faster. I need to know where she goes. I want to know what becomes of her after hours.
Does anybody know her name? Does anybody know who she was before she was this? If there is someone out there who knows her, are they aware of what she has become?
I guess this is what becomes of the unloved.

The Whole truth
Where should I start?
I always knew that her life was never what she made it seem. I knew that there were pieces, if not large chunks of her life that she left untold. She would state time and again that she felt as though nobody knew the real her. Well, it wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own, but she knew that. She didn’t want anyone to know certain parts of who she was because if they did then she would feel exposed and vulnerable. She thought that people would pity her. This much she made clear to me. However, knowing that there was something kept secret from me quite obviously peaked my curiosity. I always thought that one day she would reveal the awful truths of her life to me in one long thread of lucid storytelling. I was wrong. The last time I saw her she was distant; so different. She kept away from me aside from our brief meeting at the station. I thought we were going to spend the weekend wrapped up in each other’s arms but she had another plan. She had a plan that I wasn’t a part of and that I still have yet to learn about. I don’t know where she went that day and why she never returned. I never went looking for her because I wouldn’t even know where to start. I didn’t know her as I thought I did, I guess. I think that is the truth that hurt me the most.
The day before her disappearance, when I met her at the train station she bestowed unto me the key to her apartment. We were supposed to meet back there after she picked up some groceries for our dinner. So the story goes. She didn’t have to tell me the plan; we always did the same thing when I came to visit. We would always meet back at her place and spend the weekend locked in each other’s gaze. She always asked why life couldn’t be one long weekend, but she knew the reason why. She knew we couldn’t make our love a lifestyle because it wouldn’t be healthy. We needed the moments in between our meetings in order to balance the weight. We needed the in-betweens to give more meaning to the moments we shared. That’s what I believed.
I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know how else to describe the person I loved. I thought I knew her. I thought she let me know her. It turns out she had a whole other life; one she kept safely tucked away from me. I wish she had confided in me; told me of the pain she suffered. I wish she told me that she didn’t feel the same way about the moments we were apart. I may have done things differently. I may have explored a new way if I knew how perilously unhappy she was without me. Perhaps I could have been there for her in some way. Perhaps I could have saved her. She is gone from me now and I am sitting here in her apartment where the only thing that remains of my dear love is rubbish and this ghastly odor.
How could I help someone that doesn’t let on that she is hurting? For the most part, she spent one part of her life meticulously hiding the other part of her life. She never let herself be a whole person; she guarded what we had with all of her might but in between she let herself slip away somehow. Her pain ate away at her. I never saw the woman she was when I was not there. I never saw what she let herself disintegrate into- but after only mere moments of being in this apartment I can gather the unseemly sight. It saddens me to know that she was living like this- she had given up. Was she always living like this but pretending not to for my sake on my visits? Did the wreckage ensue with my departure? Given the condition she left me to walk into, I am assuming she finally wanted me to know, or like I said, maybe she had finally given up.
I guess the in-betweens were harder for her than she let on but she didn’t want to tell me nor show me what life became without me. She didn’t want help. She wanted to save herself. She could have easily cleaned up one last time and saved herself from ever letting me see this mess. Now I know what she had become. Now I can see for myself.
I didn’t think I would ever understand what her life had become. No words would have ever been able to describe it. Looking onto her disheveled apartment gives me what is probably only a portion of the insight needed to know what had become of her body and mind. I have so many questions now that will always remain unanswered- I won’t ever know if she was mad or if she was just desperately hopeless. I am not sure which is worse but in order to move past the pain of her exposed truth I need to know if she blamed me for the ruins into which her life had down-spiraled. I would have never thought she would consciously allow her life to come to this. If this apartment is a reflection of the dirty mess she was then maybe there was no hope left for her. It had been a long time since she had cared for this place; a long time since she looked after her home.
It had been a long time since she lived here; the memories these four walls housed was what kept her locked out of this space. She didn’t want to record over our moments with triviality so she avoided her home unless she was with me. I can see that for myself now. If I think back, I can still hear her whisper between moments of lovemaking: “our love lifts me up to a paradise unknown to any other. Without you my life is idle,” I can still feel her breath on my neck. I thought she was being poetic. I thought she was romanticizing our love to magnanimous proportions but maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she knew something I didn’t. Maybe I should have listened to her.
It had been a long time since my last visit. Life just kept going. Busy, busy. Too busy for love. Too busy for her.
Too busy for life.
She never once left my mind. The sight of her never slipped my memory. I thought of her everyday. Every fabric was reminiscent of her touch and every song would play the sound of her voice in my head. She was everywhere to me- always with me. I guess I kept her as a moment to look forward to; a memory to soon be had. She didn’t think of us that way.
So here I sit. In the wreckage that was once our sanctuary. A metaphor of my dear Sabine’s life.
Is it all my fault? Did she decide to live outside of her home or did I force her into homelessness?
Heartache.
She slipped away because she wanted to. I am not sure where she is now- whether she is alive or not her soul died a long time ago. She could not keep going because her memory of us had gone stale- it had been too long between moments. It wasn’t quite enough to keep her afloat. Living without me was not living at all- she used to whisper. I never saw this coming.
I remember once, years ago she and I spent a long weekend in the bed that once nestled in the corner of this now putrefied room. My body lay lightly on top of hers as I murmured softly into her ears that “love finds it’s meaning in our making of it.” She smiled and let one tear roll down her cheek. She responded that she wished she were brave enough to live a loveless life, for her love made life unbearably hard. She always said such beautiful things about our life together. She always talked of the remarkable power it had to brighten her life. I miss her, my sweet and gentle wonder.
I used to think she spoke highly of our love so as to prove to me how deeply she truly felt. But it was because of my own blindness that I discounted the truth she actually revealed. Life without love was not worth living. She said that time and again. She was right. Here I am now- she took my love with her.
We carried each other’s love with us. I held hers and she mine. It was easy for me to trust her with my love because there she was forever and always. I can now see that hers was not safe with me. When I was not there to provide my love- I took it with me leaving her behind; an empty shell of herself.
I loved her. There was no one else in my heart but her. I loved her strongly and passionately. I loved my Sabine. Like no other. The difference is that she didn’t merely love me- she loved loving me. I loved the way she loved me. I will never feel the immensity of our love with any other – I wasn’t to be trusted. I let her fall and I was never there to pick her up. Deeper and deeper she fell; further and further into this rut.
My stomach is turning thinking about how I will never see my Sabine’s face ever again. I will never look into her deep blue eyes again as I touch my hand to her soft milky skin. I won’t ever hear her sweet voice say my name nor will I ever be able to kiss her gentle lips. All she ever wanted was me. I was all hers, but I never quite showed her that. If only I knew what my presence truly meant. If only I could have made her my life as she made me hers. I feel now how she felt. I feel now the regretful course of my life- it was petty, all for nothing. I now that without her there is no worth to life. Without her I have no me.
It was she all along. It was her whom I lived for. And now–
It has been a long time since I have been able to peel myself off of her repulsively soiled apartment floor. I sit here thinking of the choices I made in my lifetime and how backward my priority list has been. I sit here and I miss her. She took my love with her wherever she is and I don’t think I will ever get it back. She’s gone. My love is gone.

Floating Hat
How had I let it happen? How did I let my life become such a waste?
She had reached down to pick up the little red hat that had been following me down the past three blocks. Blowing in a ghastly wind, it had flown across these city blocks with intent- the hat flew right back to my feet. She knelt down to pick up the hat and as she rose she noticed my hound’s tooth printed pants staring her at eye level. She stood frozen for a moment and gave it a suspicious thought. I was not quite sure how this hat had found its way back to me but it brought her to me face to face for the first time. I had been waiting for this to happen. I knew she had been watching me, following me, obsessing over me. I wanted to know what it was about me that aroused such a fascination in her. She stood erect. She placed the hat gently in the palm of my hand.
“I think this is your hat,” she muttered with quiet desperation. She had been yearning to meet me, to speak to me, to get a closer look at my face and all she gave me was a shy hat-fact.
It was me that was left speechless though. I wanted to corner her and tell her that I had been watching her watch me through the corner of my eye all throughout those winter days. I wanted to let her know that I had noticed her staring at me all those months and that she should leave me alone. I was not who she thought I was and I definitely wouldn’t be her pity case nor her petty little school project. But, there I was and I was left mouth-opened, shocked, stunned, and utterly speechless.
Her face looked uncannily familiar. It wasn’t the face I had freeze-framed in my mind- it wasn’t the face I had been stealing glimpses of from boutiques shops, street corners, and coffee shops. It wasn’t a stranger’s face; it was the face I had known once upon a time. Her face was one I had seen staring back at me in the mirror years ago. A face that had once been mine before I surrendered myself to the moment. I recognized myself as I stood in front of her. She saw what I saw.
I had never thought that upon closer inspection that my interest in this shop girl would ascend but there I was staring at her just as she had long been eyeing me. I saw through her eyes and finally understood the hypnotic effect I must have had on her all that time. Trance-like. I saw who she was. I knew then why she had needed to follow me; she needed to see where I was going, where I would lead her. Despite the fact that she had been able to see that my life kept taking me in circles she followed me blindly. She needed to know where she would end up.
Pitiful.
My stalking past stood staring at me. It had all come: she knew there had been a reason why she felt unusually connected to me. A part of her had identified with my wandering solitude: my drifter lifestyle. She spent her days staring at me, because she intuitively knew that I held the key to her destined future.
I knew that a part of me had to let her know that I knew what she was feeling at that moment; we were both feeling it. It was at that age that I had begun feeling the overwhelming love that had consumed the rest of my years. It was at the point she was at that the moments lost their innocence and became life threateningly dangerous. I had decided not to warn her but to show her.
The young shop girl stood motionless before me; I had once thought that she was a menace intrusively violating my privacy but that wasn’t what it was at all. She was watching what could be if she isn’t careful. If only I had the luxury of foresight when I was at her stage in the game. She could still save herself. I was lost for good.
A shrunken, dirty and lonely woman. That is what I had become. Seemingly aged beyond my years; an expression of numbness plastered on my face at all times. I originally felt the loss years ago when my drifting way of life became a reality but with each passing day I had fought the urge to resist the inevitable. I had ultimately succumbed to that which was inescapable; a product of circumstance, I had accepted the waste that defined my life. Day in and day out- I floated about, filling my head with thoughts and different ways of looking out at the world that hustled past me in the streets and shopping malls. I gave no thought as to how I could reenter the world. I was who I was and I accepted my fate willfully. I simply slipped by unnoticed; lost in a crowd that never looked at me but rather looked through me. Except her. She always noticed me, looked at me, watched me. Her gaze gave my life meaning. She never stopped looking at me. Learning from me. Observing my every move; not giving up on me. She had just about given up on herself but she had yet to give up on. She had many questions about the choices I had made that brought me to where I was. She wanted to know how I slipped through the societal cracks and wasted away into a life of…
I looked at her and saw that she never considered me a complete waste- my insignificance elevated the significance and purpose of those around me. My existence gave meaning to others. Those who passed me on the street felt better about their own status in society. They felt safe knowing that I, and those like me, existed in the world, filling the lower levels of the social ladder. What would a city be without those staple characters: the bum sifting through trash, the bag lady walking aimlessly up and down the street, the alcohol smelling homeless guy belching and yelling at those who pass him and the beggar, all the beggars. There they all are, fulfilling their role. Completing the picture of a society at large.
But I knew that she couldn’t help but think that some years ago, I wasn’t the bag lady that she was then standing before. She knew that I had once had a job as a shop girl just like her. I was a girl just like her that filled her whole life with the memories of one mere moment of a love story. She watched me carefully to see what would become of her if she allowed those moments to consume her. She watched to see what would become of the moments in between.
I grabbed my hat and turned away from her. As I walked toward the train station I slowed my pace. I wanted her to be able to keep up.

Walking on Main Street
I walked along Main Street and there she was. I can’t escape her, even if I wanted to.
She walked with her plastic bags weighing her down. The sun hit her face brightening the crevices between her cheeks and lips. Deep. Sunken. Her eyes stared ahead. Empty. I am not even sure she could see but she walked ahead nonetheless.
I had never seen her outside of the mall before, but lately it seemed as though she was following me everywhere. No matter where I went she appeared. I wonder if she noticed me the way I noticed her. Perhaps if she tuned into my presence, she would feel me following her. Why are my thoughts compulsively consumed by the routine life of this little old lady? She is a stranger to me yet I know her so well; I spend everyday with her, watching her.
I watched her move through a thin crowd of people. I watched her slowly place one foot in front of the other, shifting the weight of her bags with her knees as she moved forward. Her head stayed straight, never shifting from side to side. The sweat forming at her nape began sticking her straggly hair to her neck- would her red cap ever slip off?
I had originally made my way to Main Street for- for, I can’t remember. I don’t know why I came but now that I am here, with her, I don’t want to leave. I need to know what she is doing here. I want to know why she isn’t in the mall. I know her pattern and her daily routine but today she has broken off; wavered. I am here to witness the change. One step closer to knowing her.
Footstep for footstep, I walked at least ten paces behind her, lagging every time she slowed to catch her breath. I casually looked around to make it seem as though I was not stalking her like prey. I don’t think anyone would think twice about my motives; she looks suspicious, not I. I am seemingly walking aimlessly. I am simply walking.
It’s strange. It is a strange, strange thing that this woman, in a small town of ordinary, regular people, would blend in. She attracts no attention at all. Just mine. Only me; I can’t stop thinking about her. It makes it easier that she is everywhere I am. Perhaps, without realizing, I am everywhere she is.
She entered a store. She always does. Standing by the door, she looked around deciding where to start. The lady behind the counter was not bothered by her presence; she did not mind that a woman like her would shop among the other customers. I watched from outside the glass-pane door. She fingered through one wall of hanging merchandise. I knew, move for move, what she would do next. I knew that she would go through every piece of clothing in the store, looking and touching everything but buy nothing. She would not lift anything off of a counter or remove anything from a hanger. She would just touch every fabric the store had to offer. And then she would leave. A harmless visit.
I wanted to get a closer look so I walked in unsuspectingly to the shopkeeper. I went straight for the back of the store so that I could see her from a discreet angle. She spent more time than usual in this boutique. Was she planning on trying something on? Was she perhaps deciding whether to buy something this time?
She lifted a ruffled beige blouse off a hanger. She looked over at the cash counter and nodded to the lady sitting behind it.
“Would you like to try it on, miss?” the salesperson said delicately and democratically.
“No. I will take it.”
I had never heard her speak before. What a simple pleasure it was to hear her voice. She spoke decisively and gently. She was not treated condescendingly and therefore did not respond with haughty insecurity. It was an interaction between two people. Neither was homeless.
It seemed strange to me that I was the only one intrigued by her. I was the only one who noticed her in the streets. I was the only person who felt the presence of a woman devoid of life living among us; sharing our shops as though she weren’t whom she was.
Maybe she wasn’t.
She took out a folded wad of cash and paid for her blouse. One hundred and seventy-five dollars. How could she afford frivolity when it seemed to me that lunch was out of her reach?
This unusual woman was the object of my daily thoughts. She devoured my mind space and today she made it impossible for me to relinquish her mysterious case.
Before she left the shop she walked around the store one more time.
I had been waiting around, sifting through the merchandise for the length of her visit and I began to feel as though the shop lady was wary of my presence. I made my way to the door and casually left the store. I walked outside and sat at the coffee shop next door. I placed my sunglasses on my face and tucked my purse neatly on my lap. I hugged it close and watched the shop door closely. I didn’t know what she was doing in there. She was breaking her routine and I was beginning to feel nervous.
Normally she looks lonely and sad. She looks as though she is living between moments, waiting for the end to near. But today she seemed determined and motivated. She had something to do and somewhere to go.
She walked out of the store. Blouse clenched in her right fist; no bag. She walked in a quick and steady pace for many blocks. I followed her. Her little red hat flung off of her head with a strong gust of wind. I knelt down, picked it up and ran after her to return it to her.
“I think this is your hat,” I said as I handed it to her. She stood motionless for a moment, staring at me as though she knew me from somewhere. She ripped the hat out of my hand, turned around and walked away.
She walked and walked until she reached a public bathroom near the train station. Was she going somewhere? I always felt that she had a story I needed to know but that day I finally knew that all of my obsessing hadn’t been in vain. There was more to her. There was a life behind the woman and I was about to find out what it was.
I stayed four feet away from the bathroom door. I waited. I waited and while I waited I thought of all the possibilities happening on the other side of the door.
The blouse looked beautiful on her. She walked out of the washroom with a bold presence. Her hound’s tooth pants were clean and ironed. Her trench coat looked long and silhouette-like on her petite stature. She looked serene and ethereal.
For the first time in the many moments I had spent watching her, she acknowledged me.
“Serena, right?” she looked straight at me as she waited for my response. I was not scared however I never thought she noticed me and for a brief moment my whole world spun.
“Yes,” I whispered in one ghastly breath.
“Well, how do I look?”
I never, for a second, thought that all of my stalking would come to this. I never knew that she was aware of my presence all of those times. I felt robbed of my slightly experience. I felt as though she took away the ghostly life I led in the times when I devoted my days to watching her. She knew. She knew all along. I didn’t have time to think about what all of this meant; she looked at me desperately awaiting an answer.
“You look,” I shook my head in awe and wonder, “you look like a vision. You are magnificent.”
“Thank you, my dear. My life awaits me. Today I am leaving and I won’t be back. I have left my plastic bags in the cupboard beneath the sink in the coffee shop bathroom. I know that you will enjoy some of the content of the bags. I know that you have been observing me, watching as I trudge through the motions of my petty life. But I want you to know there is and always was more to me than the woman you saw pathetically floating by on the daily. There was a woman inside of me that burned with passion and sparked with life. Here she is today, alive and well. I am going to the platform to meet the man who ignites my flame. You can watch from the staircase. When I leave him do not follow me anymore. Please, it will be to no avail, for today is the last day of my life. But please, follow the man I leave behind.”
I looked at this nameless lady. This woman I didn’t know any better than the strangers I walk past in every instant of my life. She knew me. She has always known me. She has always known that without her meaningless life exposed and dangling in front of me my life has no purpose. I have nothing left but my memory of her. She has a life outside of mine. I have none outside of her. I stared bewildered into her deep blue eyes. Her skin was pristine and evenly sun-kissed. She stood erect and confident as she held her head straight and strong on her long neck. Her teeth: sparkling white. How did she…?
She looked at me one last time and took her little red hat out of her trench pocket. “I loved knowing you. I loved knowing you were always there watching me, it meant more to me than you know. I had no reason to be all of those days. They were hours I needed to pass until the moments like these. You made it possible for those hours to pass.”
She placed her little red hat on her head and walked away.

Sleep Until Morning Comes
“Why do you ask for that which you do not want?
Why can’t you be honest even with yourself?
Forgive her, Heart. Forgive her lies.
She shouts cowardly lies and whispers bold truths.
What should I say?
In her bed I shall lay.”
It’s been a long time since I had seen daylight. My body no longer knows cleanliness. My mind is stained with unbearable thoughts of what might have happened to my one and only Sabine. I can’t get these flash images out of my head- I can’t stop thinking about her.
I miss her.
Many moons have passed as I sit as a decrepit version of myself. I have been sitting here watching as the pages pile up- I don’t know where she is; I don’t know where to send my love.
“I am on bent knee. I am holding my face in my hands; ensconcing my grimace. Keep you away from outside danger. I can no longer be your hero. I must contain the flame burning inside of me. Come save me.
“I paint a new face; ready for battle. Playing for safety, I forgo the fight to win. Muster the will from within; I must find the way. I must find a way to live without you or I must find a way to be with you someday. I must find a way to hold you again. I must find you.
“I want to sit on a cloud with you in the blue sky above. I want to embrace you for affection’s sake; I don’t want you to fear the loss. I won’t go anywhere. I won’t go anywhere without you. I want you to feel healthy and grounded in my presence rather than afraid of my inevitably predictable departure. I won’t go. Come back to me, this time, I promise I won’t go.
“I want to put food on your table. I want a roof over our heads. I want to heat you when you’re cold. I can be your sweet baby.
“We haven’t taken any shortcuts and we have not taken the easy way out. No back doors, no trap doors. I will gladly take the long way home if we can take it together. Fear not what life is without my love, for it is eternal. Seek comfort and solace in my gaze. Let us move together in the wind. Let us stop being what we have become and be what we were set out to be.
“No more dreams. No more once in a lifetime chance encounters. I will hold you near to me and pull you forever closer. Look at me; I won’t turn away. I promise I will be there when you awake.
“Let us not repeat what has been repeated a thousand times. Let us find a new song to sing, a new tune to hum. Let us not watch time pass us by. Let us waste not. Come back to me. Meet me in our secret place where our love is eternal. I have to see your face. Oh, to touch those lips. Come back to me, my prettiest little wonder.
“Turn off the lights- our love will guide you back to me. I can’t bear you being a distant memory. Be the warm touch beside me. Who am I without the life we shared: an incomplete puzzle. You are my missing piece. Without you life is a never-ending game of hide-and-go-seek. Come out, come out my love. Come out from wherever you are. Let’s be together again.
I promise my love to you. I promise this time I won’t let go.
“I cannot undo moments past. I cannot erase the in-betweens but I promise to now fill them. No more moments- only a lifetime.
“With you, my love, my life is complete. I know now what life is- come back to me and bring my love. I want to share my life with you.”

Don’t Wake Me Up
I went into the station bathroom quickly to grab the bags. I didn’t bother looking through them; I didn’t have time to dedicate to that if I wanted to keep my eye out on the man she was meeting.
Her life was a warning. Her life did have meaning, just not the one she thought it had. She thought she lived to love but in reality she lived to tell me not to.
The journal she finds in the plastic bags left to her in the bathroom of the train station.
“My heart says this time it’s goodbye but deeper within my heart I want to be wrong. One day will I know which one is true?
I can’t remember a time when my dreams at night were rested. I can’t remember when I had a calmness that allowed my eyes to see clearly. Don’t try to pretend that my pain is self-inflicted. Don’t look at me from above, standing on your ten-foot stonewall. Come down. Join me. Open your hands to me; stop forcing me to play this game of solitaire.
If you go away then take everything with you. Leave nothing behind that makes me think of our moment. Sail away. Take all that belongs to you; take our memories and wipe the sun from my face.
I know where my lies live. I know where I keep the truth safe and sound. I will give you the key- take the truth with you and sail away- leave me here to live on without our moments. I want to go on. I want to wake up and see the sun in the sky and not be afraid that you are holding the string that keeps it beaming above me. Leave my days alone.
Can you find your love in me? What am I to you? Tell me something blue. Tell me something true.
My secret behind that locked door is begging to see the light of day. I have to hear the words you keep in your lost heart. Till I hear those sweet memories just know that I will make due with a moment. I want to hear your voice whispering in my heart. I want to hear all that has been long kept unsaid. I can’t live without these sporadic moments but I can’t live between them either. My voice will say what my heart will never pronounce. Stay away.
Stay away- but don’t believe me when I say that I don’t want you to come back; I just never want you to leave.
My eyes are wide open. My fragile body awaits your arrival. No sound in the surrounding meadow. You creep up on my delicate soul and devour me whole. What would I be without you? What would my life be without these moments?
I am afraid to be me without you. I am just a memory from our shared past; no life of my own. You made me sad, you have made me blue. I have paid my due. A long road behind us. I once thought there was an endless highway before us. Goodbye. I am now ready to say goodbye.”
Good-bye. I am ready to wake up. My life waits.