Monday, November 1, 2010


Going through old writingness while trying to find a novel I'd started a few years ago, and thought I'd share this :) 


March 15, 2007

I am a people-watcher and a keeper of secrets. I spent many wonderful moments with my mother during my childhood doing just that – people-watching. 
            The people you observe come in all shapes and sizes and colors; no one is left out, and every single person has a story all their own.  I’ve often wondered what might happen if I were to actually write down my observations as they play out in the reality of life. 
            Take now, for example. I am riding the bus to campus.  The buses that take people here or there – from campus to home, home to work, or random, sundry appointments – are often more colorful that a midsummer sunset over Lake Michigan.  White-skinned people are a minority here, and the most beautiful shades of brown, olive, and peach surround me – me, a blonde-haired, green-eyed twenty-something with skin that tans easily in the few summer months Michigan claims as its own. 
            I like watching how people talk on the bus.  There are two women about my age towards the front of the bus; both are talking with their hands and eyes, and laughter occasionally erupts from their mouths.  I’m not really eavesdropping, but they’re discussing how difficult it is for one of them to get a raise at the job where she works. 
            I love watching the Asian women on the bus when they’re deep in conversation.  The younger woman has her hair parted in the middle and pulled back with a plastic barrette, and the older woman has her hair in a fashionable haircut.  Their eyes are the most attentive, and these two women barely raise their voices above a library appropriate level.
            Then there is the occasional serious-type student, the person-in-the-crowd you don’t notice when they’re in-the-crowd, but as soon as they step away from the masses of humanity surrounding them, you can see them for who they are. This man-my-age across the aisle from me, for example; he’s reading a textbook full of built-in highlights, and nothing seems to be distracting him from studying – nothing, and everything.  From what I can see, he’s just as interested in the conversation of the two ladies in the front of the bus, which has shifted from job raises to blood pressure, and has moved on to talking about someone joining the Peace Corps.
            This is where I get off to wait five minutes for the next bus.  
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