the blink of an eye

originally posted August 11, 2006
Went to City Hall Park, to read during lunch. When I looked up from my book, I noticed a pale blond woman in black pants and sleeveless blouse, sitting on the stone ledge ringing the fountain. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her crossed arms holding them in place. She looked mid-twenties. Her head hung down a little and she had a faraway look in her eyes. I considered her a moment, wondering if she was sad, but couldn’t tell. I went back to my story. A few minutes later, I checked the time. The woman was gone, just another radar blip. But when I looked up at the end of the next chapter, I saw she had settled on the back steps of City Hall – in the precise same pose, as if grief was a suitcase she dragged behind her. Ten minutes later, she was hugging her knees in the alley between City Hall and the Firehouse Gallery. Five minutes after that -- back on the steps, same hunched-over pose. Each time, the first place I looked there she was. As if each blink of my eye had picked her up and placed her in a different spot. As I closed my book and stood to go, she turned her head in my direction. Was she hoping I’d at last do the right thing before I left and blink her to a happier place?