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FREEDOM 2

AND a beautiful girl gets on the bus. She looks like a nervous actress,
long blond hair so thick it waves as it moves. Dark serious eyebrows
over her alert, round eyes. Long slender nose which finishes just at
the right amount of pointedness and roundness, and braces hidden
carefully under those full sixteen year old lips. I've seen her on the bus
before. I would kiss her.

ALL the windows open, we are blowing around like a convertible. The girl
is now shredding the edge of some cut-off jeans she pulled from her bag.
She picks the threads and lets go of each one, and it flies in the air. She
is actually making an effort to place each one on the ground, but each time
it leaves her fingers and takes off. She's really at it now, big ones - some are
even heavy enough to actually make it to the ground. She thinks the bus is
a garbage pail, or a movie theatre.

I'M about to cry for her because I see me. I see me before I knew what I know.
Then, I see me now before I know what I am going to know and it scares me.
Now, all I see is a mess of bluse threads, that if I would never have seen the girl,
would have wondered where they came from.

FREEDOM 3