Looking at Oneself

At least twice a week we cross each other's path on Mass Avenue. I'm heading toward my��work place� and she's heading toward Massachusetts Avenue subway stop. We usually come face to face on a block between Columbus Street and Tremont Street.

She stood about an inch or two shorter than me. Weight more or less about 150 lb. Her straight black hair was cut at� shoulder length with a bang, about an inch above her eyebrows. Nothing spectacular about her that people would give a second glance except she always carries a blue hand held mirror in her left hand and sometimes she has a black comb in her right hand.

She alternately wears her canvas shoes, sked�white, sked blue and grasshopper espresso to match her sling canvas bags. This morning she wears a grasshopper espresso canvas shoes to match her dark brown sling bag.

She usually strolls (she is a stroller) while looking intently at her face in the mirror. Sometimes she stops to straighten up her bang. I've never seen her fixing her hair on the sides, back or on the top of her head, but her bang gets her full attention.

This morning she leans on a gray Suzuki Vitara. As usual she has a mirror in her hand. This time she holds the mirror in her right hand.

Using her elbow to support her arm, her upper body leans heavily on the side of the jeep. She extends her mirrored hand and turns her head to the left momentarily to look at herself in the mirror, and she brings the mirror closer to her face. She looks full face in the mirror and parts her bang in the middle.

Then she reaches a comb from her tattered canvas sling bag and runs the comb over the parted bang twice. She brings the mirror to about 6 inches�her face and turns her face to the left.

It is 7:55 a.m, the sidewalk is alive with people, Massachusetts Avenue is like any big cities in the country, buzzz with traffic, and there she is oblivious to everything around her. I have to admit I'm a little envious of her unconsciously gentle self expression.

With more and more loud cell phone users around us, constantly scream, yell, bitch, moan, complain and verbally fight at their cells on the streets, waiting rooms, train platforms, book aisles, grocery stores, fitting rooms, on the bus and even in the toilets, I'm much appreciate seeing her around in her own unique way.

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