Lip Gloss
The rumbling from the other side of the tracks adds to her agitation. Standing like a teenage starlet looking to do a cameo, pouting lips, knees pushed back, until she resumes the constant pacing from the wall to the edge of the platform.“From Madam Walker’s beauty shop…” Her hairstyle is a hint she could be jailbait. This generation fashion and sexiness know few boundaries. Height has to be discounted ‘cause a date being carded once angered and baffled me, at the assumption I would swim in the kiddie pool.
The retro black jeans take me back to the 1980’s of lockers in hallways, lip gloss and mini-skirts, Coney Island on Easter Sunday to show off your wears, and cotton candy on top of the ferris wheel. When the world was abstract, and had yet to develop a recurring theme.
How this hour, sectioned in a portion called evening, when the distance between two car doors serves either as a barrier or time machine. To recover a decade, perhaps two, forgetting that some older dudes claim to shy away from dimes in their twenties.
I concur whiny voices, even when explaining chemistry, sound like fingernails across a blackboard. Yet, the allure of lip gloss on pouting lips makes subway crooners tolerable.
By walking into the last door of the preceding car, I hope to quiet the thoughts with help from a quartet…plus one more, of DooWop songs by sexagenarians.
They got off at the next stop, not realizing I would have given change had the tune in my head not been “she was only seventeen…”
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