Untitled Story - Episode 5
On Friday, Andy and Adelaide stood together at the bus stop. There were other highschoolers too, in clusters and pairs, all stood like clay figures disproportionately molded and sprinkled with cigarette dust. Andy took this moment to study the girl next to him. Not until this moment did he notice how Adelaide was very neatly dressed. The turquoise sweater she wore now she had worn many times leading up to yesterday, but only now did Andy notice how simply and elegantly it fitted her, as a thin outer layer that folded firmly over her chest and fastened in a series tiny round glossy buttons. Her dark trousers, formal like curtain, barely touched the surface of her black leather shoes which were slightly elevated at the heel, making her stand very straight with toes pointing forward at all times. It only occurred to him now how shapely and mature she looked, how aptly wrapped on this sunny warm afternoon. She held a brown leather handbag for her books.
"You look very proper. I just noticed it now. You look quite different from that mad woman on the grass yesterday."
"Are you mocking me?"
"No, I think you look great. I'm just afraid that I don't match up,"
Adelaide tucked herself closer to him.
"And I think my mother has the exact same handbag."
A few eyes looked their way because Andy had said it a bit loudly. Adelaide leaned towards him.
"I share clothes with my mother," she said.
"What?"
"And she shares them with my aunties."
Then Adelaide left her utterance floating in the air for Andy to ponder.
That makes you very old-fashioned, Andy wanted to say to her, but then Adelaide had already zoned out into the distance, the way she always did, as if she was examining the pattern of random dots in the unknown sphere. Then he thought she belonged in a hospital where she could be both a nurse and a patient. Turquoise is a nice colour, he wanted to tell her.
The bus arrived.
"It's too bad you can't join me today. I'm not as understanding as I pretend to be," Andy said.
"I'll call you, okay? I promise. And please remember what I told you today."
"That you share clothes with your aunties?"
"And everything else!"
Adelaide watched Andy watching her through a window frame as the bus rolled, a wind passed through her hair and the space around her became infinitely grand and ultimately lonely. Adelaide smiled and waved her bandaged hand while she shrank to a tiny pebble and was swallowed by the blocking streetscape.
Andy sat back and felt as elated as ever. Then he tried to recall the images of their conversation.
There was Adelaide, neatly dressed, and there was a sister with green hair who ran away from home, and a sister with green socks who ran all over the place, and there again was Adelaide, neatly sandwiched amidst the black and glossy and angular furniture and the black piano with a white bottle on top of it, I'd be as happy as a milk bottle, she said, something like that, and it was night, and he fancied watching a football match with her under the lights at Victoria Park but, I just want you to know that I'm really happy we're together, she said and she smiled and there stood behind her girls with green hair and green socks and a series of neatly-dressed mothers and aunties, and you need to remember everything, she said.
Bits and pieces spun in his head. Then he shuddered at the fact that he was bound to forget something, and how ought to write, or at least listen carefully. But he would see her soon. I'll call you, I promised, she said, and that made him feel better.
"You look very proper. I just noticed it now. You look quite different from that mad woman on the grass yesterday."
"Are you mocking me?"
"No, I think you look great. I'm just afraid that I don't match up,"
Adelaide tucked herself closer to him.
"And I think my mother has the exact same handbag."
A few eyes looked their way because Andy had said it a bit loudly. Adelaide leaned towards him.
"I share clothes with my mother," she said.
"What?"
"And she shares them with my aunties."
Then Adelaide left her utterance floating in the air for Andy to ponder.
That makes you very old-fashioned, Andy wanted to say to her, but then Adelaide had already zoned out into the distance, the way she always did, as if she was examining the pattern of random dots in the unknown sphere. Then he thought she belonged in a hospital where she could be both a nurse and a patient. Turquoise is a nice colour, he wanted to tell her.
The bus arrived.
"It's too bad you can't join me today. I'm not as understanding as I pretend to be," Andy said.
"I'll call you, okay? I promise. And please remember what I told you today."
"That you share clothes with your aunties?"
"And everything else!"
Adelaide watched Andy watching her through a window frame as the bus rolled, a wind passed through her hair and the space around her became infinitely grand and ultimately lonely. Adelaide smiled and waved her bandaged hand while she shrank to a tiny pebble and was swallowed by the blocking streetscape.
Andy sat back and felt as elated as ever. Then he tried to recall the images of their conversation.
There was Adelaide, neatly dressed, and there was a sister with green hair who ran away from home, and a sister with green socks who ran all over the place, and there again was Adelaide, neatly sandwiched amidst the black and glossy and angular furniture and the black piano with a white bottle on top of it, I'd be as happy as a milk bottle, she said, something like that, and it was night, and he fancied watching a football match with her under the lights at Victoria Park but, I just want you to know that I'm really happy we're together, she said and she smiled and there stood behind her girls with green hair and green socks and a series of neatly-dressed mothers and aunties, and you need to remember everything, she said.
Bits and pieces spun in his head. Then he shuddered at the fact that he was bound to forget something, and how ought to write, or at least listen carefully. But he would see her soon. I'll call you, I promised, she said, and that made him feel better.
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