:snapshots of a saturday:

9:19 a.m. – lounging in bed, reading The Poisonwood Bible with no glasses or contacts…blurry letters, blurry thoughts, deliciously half-awake and warm…

11:26 a.m. – off for an afternoon adventure on the broken-down ferry, being pushed by the tugboat Samantha J … four-year-old Julian with his clear brown skin and golden brown eyes stands in the midst of us, watching, watching, watching … to him i must be a grown-up but i feel very young indeed …

12:03 p.m. – “have a good time!” “you too!” “see you later!” and, striding up the street past the grocery store and Chinese restaurant, i’m a-l-o-n-e … the afternoon stretches out before me like pages two to four hundred of a book in which anything can happen … just me! and i can’t help but smile …

4:21 p.m. – bookshelves from floor to ceiling of the antique store on willow street, old pre-loved books with dusty jackets and worn spines … scanning for my old friends … and there, white and pristine, stands Age of Innocence. 10- scribbled in pencil on the flyleaf and it gets tucked under my arm. you’re coming home with me, dear …

5:37 p.m. – i sit on this red slatted bench in the grocery store eating my day-old microwaved burrito and drinking my Jones root beer … tired shopping feet, bags and purse beside me, this cold rainy night aloneness … still i like it … scritch-ding-chirp of cash registers, hum of refrigerator units, incessant bubble gum voices crooning their hearts out through the speakers (their masterpieces the background noise for weekend-weary middle-aged parents deliberating over one percent? two percent? paper? plastic? broccoli? green beans?) … tired fluorescent lighting, speckled dingy floor … a stiff thin paper napkin to wipe my hands clean and i stand up … “goodnight” says the white-haired man in the green apron behind the lottery ticket counter …

6:43 p.m. – waiting on a hard plastic chair in the ferry terminal, i hear the door open and the wiry wizened old Indian with the vacantly light-hearted eyes walks cat-like in, carrying a black garbage bag of who-knows-what … leathery lips crinkle into a smile, a mouthful of yellow teeth and blackened gaps … coarse black hair falls in a scraggly swath from his chin … he mumbles, asks me for six cents and i give him a dime, feeling yet that maybe it should be a ten dollar bill …

{after 11 tonight} – that rebellious thrill … all crowding into the room two down from mine to watch a movie on bryan’s laptop WITHOUT getting permission from the staff … rule-breaking mess-making anything-but-faking … but rebellion, it can be faked with slashed clothes, silver dog-choker necklaces, piercings and artificial hair colouring … hum-diddly-um and all that. i’m so glad i’m 18 … old enough to do stuff but young enough to have so much to look forward to … how i love life, tired fluorescent lights and all!