Traveling to Ohio

On the Pennsylvania turnpike, I see a woman riding on a motorcycle behind her husband.  She passes through mountains and never looks up from the Kindle in her hands.  I am intrigued by this woman.  I’d like to keep watching, but…”Dad, I have to go.”

My husband pulls in at the next rest stop and we lose her.

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Curb on Trust

There’s a bookstore close by my house.  It’s a huge bookstore, with a separate section just for movies and music, and when you go in, you’re immediately accosted by the sole employee who never appears to have anything to do.

 “May I help you?”

“No thanks.  Just looking.”

But this employee won’t leave you to look.  Instead, she—most often it’s a young woman—will lean on the counter, staring at you, occasionally walking behind you, hands clasped nonchalantly behind her back, as she watches to ensure you aren’t stuffing videos down your shirt.

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Friended

A woman friended me on Facebook the other day; a woman with whom I’d attended high school.  Her face looked familiar.  And I knew her name.  But I couldn’t quite place her.  I accepted her anyway: I’d remember her eventually.

She greeted me seconds after I logged onto Facebook the following morning.  “Where’ve you been? LOL”

 “Hi,” I typed tentatively.

She told me she’d been trying to find me for years.

I felt an odd combination of flattery and guilt.  Someone remembered me!  But who was she?  “I’ve moved around a lot.”

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