The things that hide behind the sun.
It's been hot humid days here in the new naked city I call home. The only brown boy sitting amongst the sea of Japanese. The orange haired, overly tanned waif walks in and sits across me from me after the train stops. Her cat eyes are masked under a sheath of white eyeliner, cigarette burn on the back of her hand as her thumb flies through her cell phone keys not e-mailing her friends about me. My mind drifts away to the rhythmic clanging of the subway train. "What if...", I thought, "what if..."
What if I had gone to Korea? What if I hadn't swallowed a bag of mushrooms and seen John Cusack and Billy Bob Thornton soar through the air? What if I did lose my leg at age 14 from a pit bull bite? What if I had seen a UFO? What if I was a vampire? What if...
Everyone has been at that cross road where you could had dated person A, but wondered what if you dated person B. All the what if girls started racing through my mind: faces, hair color, fashion style. Honestly, I don't know if I remember all their names, but I do remember something. A perfume, a tattoo, birthmark, a smile. Particularly I remember the ones I didn't date after said chosen relationship didn't work out or crashed and burned. I need a shave.
Why did you date that person and didn't choose the other one. Can you remember your mind set then? Your confidence? Your self esteem? Your look? Your weight? Where would you be? Where would I be? Japan? Siberia? Who knows.
My stop. My right knee hurts. The waif smiles. "What if".