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a place where no one's lost (drabble: pink)
It occured to Falda that the girl's hair was the same shade of pink as the gum she always had in her mouth. She wasn't sure if that was by design or by accident, but somehow the collision of coincidences seemed to make her that much more intriguing.
The strange thing was that she was always around, popping up in different forms with a different set of thrifted clothes in a different railstation, lugging around library books and clothes in the world on her back; one of those strange synchronous coincidences of life. She'd turn around from buying flowers downtown and the girl was sitting across the square reading Anais Nin. She'd get in line to buy tickets for the tram and the girl was around the corner singing show tunes in return for people's spare change that dripped into her flat black watch cap, shimmering silverfall. It was almost like she was being stalked - or perhaps stalking? - except that she didn't know about it on the one hand and on the other hand felt completely safe.
Safe enough to walk up to her in the middle of a rendition of "Castle on a Cloud" and toss a small bill into the cap - enough to make her look twice.
"Hey, thanks." She knelt down and scooped up the bill and a handful of change, tucking it in the depths of her army jacket.
"I figured I owed it to you, I keep seeing you around."
"I get around." She had a slight german accent - the faintest Teutonic whispers hardened her d's.
"Where you live?"
"Around."
"You want a place to crash?" Falda kept her face clear, just the slightest curve of a friendly smile, reassuring. "Seriously. My folks won't care."
"That's a little hard to believe." she laughed.
"You don't know my folks."
A moment went by, during which Falda felt herself being scrutinized by bright blue eyes like a can of peas hovering over the laser at a supermarket checkout.
"All right. But if I hear anything about Jesus, I'm gone." The girl picked up her cap and backpack and followed Falda up to street level.
"Nah, the worst you'll have to deal with is my wacko aunt and my dad walking around naked." Falda smiled and stuck her hand out in greeting. "I'm Falda. Falda Vanderschpiegle-Lennon-Donnelly."
"There's a hundred-euro last name if I've ever heard one." she laughed and shook Falda's hand firmly. "Ilse. Ilse Diefendorf."
The strange thing was that she was always around, popping up in different forms with a different set of thrifted clothes in a different railstation, lugging around library books and clothes in the world on her back; one of those strange synchronous coincidences of life. She'd turn around from buying flowers downtown and the girl was sitting across the square reading Anais Nin. She'd get in line to buy tickets for the tram and the girl was around the corner singing show tunes in return for people's spare change that dripped into her flat black watch cap, shimmering silverfall. It was almost like she was being stalked - or perhaps stalking? - except that she didn't know about it on the one hand and on the other hand felt completely safe.
Safe enough to walk up to her in the middle of a rendition of "Castle on a Cloud" and toss a small bill into the cap - enough to make her look twice.
"Hey, thanks." She knelt down and scooped up the bill and a handful of change, tucking it in the depths of her army jacket.
"I figured I owed it to you, I keep seeing you around."
"I get around." She had a slight german accent - the faintest Teutonic whispers hardened her d's.
"Where you live?"
"Around."
"You want a place to crash?" Falda kept her face clear, just the slightest curve of a friendly smile, reassuring. "Seriously. My folks won't care."
"That's a little hard to believe." she laughed.
"You don't know my folks."
A moment went by, during which Falda felt herself being scrutinized by bright blue eyes like a can of peas hovering over the laser at a supermarket checkout.
"All right. But if I hear anything about Jesus, I'm gone." The girl picked up her cap and backpack and followed Falda up to street level.
"Nah, the worst you'll have to deal with is my wacko aunt and my dad walking around naked." Falda smiled and stuck her hand out in greeting. "I'm Falda. Falda Vanderschpiegle-Lennon-Donnelly."
"There's a hundred-euro last name if I've ever heard one." she laughed and shook Falda's hand firmly. "Ilse. Ilse Diefendorf."
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This is one of those phrases you come up with where I stop... re-read... pause... think... and then go "ahhhh", and realize that it makes absolutely perfect sense, and it's something I never would have thought to describe in quite that way.
I like it. :)
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Hehe. Diefendorf. Hehe.
Zher gut.
~Sasa
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mmm...i love the little details everywhere. ^_^ Anais Nin, Castle on the Crowd, Jesus... it grounded the almost-surreal experience of having the same person pop up everywhere. (and made me smile.)
so you've made me curious. any more?
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