Asian woman, late 30s, reddish hair pulled back in a twist, wearing a long winter coat and floral print silk scarf. Pushed back against the streetcar window at the height of rush hour hustle. And you're reading. Like, lips moving, reading. Your breath on the back of the girl from the Fashion Building. Reading. Reading along.
The Notebook, Nicholas Sparks (Warner Books)
About a third in:
She'd slept in the soft shirt he'd given her, and she smelled him once again while thinking about the evening they'd spent together. The easy laughter and conversation came back to her, and she especially remembered the way he talked about her painting. It was so unexpected, yet uplifting, and as the words began to replay in her mind, she realized how sorry she would have been had she decided not to see him again.
In my fantasies, I have the upper body strength and lower back longevity to lift the girl like a toothpick to my tongue. Are guys really that much stronger? I'm in awe, I truly am. Because it seems like these scenes always begin with the swoop of a well-formed bicep. Just the one. No, the entirety of my seductive talents lies in my eyebrows and the desperate hope that she can hear the soundtrack too. Jah-jah-jah-Jive talkin'...and then later he does that Barry Gibb breath thing. Doo-dee-doo-dee-doo doo-dee-doo-dee-doo. But it's more like a bahh bhaaa or something. And I swear I can hear his teeth chattering.
I'm very popular.
2 comments:
Julie,
In continuing the vein of freakish coincidences that have come to mark our interaction, we have met before -- in the Beaches. I just put two and two together while talking to Simon this afternoon. What do you know!
I figured it out after visiting your blog! :D
So you can imagine how thrilled I was when I saw that woman reading Apostrophe. I was all, You've GOT to be kidding me!
(And that Simon is such a dear, ain't he? What a super nice guy.)
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