58/100 The girl who reads

SHE FLIPS THE PAGES LIKE A MADMAN. She’s holding the edges of the paperback with a certain weight to it. Her nails were red and her eyes bounce from left to right as if following a deserted ant crawling along the text printed on the the rich cream-colored pages of the book. She run her fingers through her hair for one second, looks at her phone from her bag — probably checking if anyone had beeped her — and then goes back to reading. Rigid reader. She’s wearing a white moire-patterned blouse standing out of the black-gray motif of the people around her.

Now I know what you might be thinking. Stalker. But I’m not, come on! Of course I’m not.

She’s halfway thru the book with her index finger regularly running across the arch of the even division. She leans back and forth finding the perfect spot, lest the sunlight burns on her side of the train. The sunlight hits her hair brown like the morning undertone of a cypress glow. She flips another page. The beams of light shuffle as the train enters a tunnel into the next stop. Diffused as it was, the light morphed into an indescribably boring tone of incandescent. The breath of the window behind me started to cool down.

She doesn’t look like she’s entertained nor is she looking set off. Maybe I don’t know how to read people but I usually know when eyes smile or when it stares with utter discomfort. She looks blank for the most part, like a dedication page placed in the first few pages of a novel. It says “To the girl who reads” — a centered two-liner dedication every reader forgets about once they’ve finished chapter one.

She flips another page and she’s just another person reading a book on the train.

Flip. Was it a boring book about being a pilot?

Flip. Were the sketches (of the author) not interesting enough? Does she not feel the joy of flight as told by the author?

I almost wanted to ask her.

Flip. What did you feel when author said that if you want to escape the rain, all you have to do is fly above the clouds? That it’s that easy?

Flip. What did you think about his plans on recording himself while sleeping so he could better document his dreams? Because he longs to understand what doesn’t know?

Flip. Maybe she’s imploding right now. Maybe not.

Flip. She stands up and gets out of the train.