Monday, February 19, 2007

Yonge Line, hood up.

Caucasian woman, early 40s, heavy set, wearing a navy blue coat over a mint green turtleneck. A writing pad sits open on her lap, her pen tucked between her fingers like a cigarette.

Yes Lives in the Land of NO: A Tale of Triumph Over Negativity, B. J. Gallagher, Steve Ventura (Berrett-Koehler Publishers)

Page 121:

Finding YES in the land of NO doesn't mean that every rejection can be changed. Sometimes NO is the right answer. Sometimes NO is final.

On the edge of her dusty town she idled at the track, the arm down, the light flashing. It was 2 a.m. She dug her fingers into her scalp and scratched hard, all over. The hair net made her sweat, the tingling lasting until she showered, lathered in the lavender scent of her shampoo and bath gel. She looked forward to her bed, the comforter warm and fluffy, the cover soft against her cheek in the night. First thing through the door she'd fill the kettle, waiting as it boiled, straightening the fridge magnets, the row of post cards from her sister, the big city tax lawyer. Catching the kettle before the whistle she'd fill the hot water bottled tucked inside a fleece cozy. In bed, she held it on her lap, stroking it like a cat. Sometimes she held it in her armpit, imagining it as the head of a lifemate, someone she'd been with twenty years already, looking ahead to twenty more. Other times, she spooned the bottle and told it her secrets.

The drive-through had been quiet that night. But after those boys had made such a fuss, running in and out of the dark to bang on her window, the one getting a good grip on her wrist, she promised herself to make sure the manager knew she wouldn't work the late shift alone anymore.

She rolled the car forward an inch forgetting this wasn't a stoplight; she couldn't wish Red to Green.

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