Friday, September 21, 2012
Crows in Bikinis
The other day when I wrote about taking Sophie to the beach I forgot to tell you about the little girl and boy who twirled merrily around a stand of rental surfboards and bicycles, the girl lifting her dress so her pink underwear showed, the boy stiff and uncoordinated, stomping as he circled. I forgot to tell you how I sat at a table at a cafe with Sophie in her wheelchair and fed her french fries. The twirling girl and boy tripped over toward us and when they saw Sophie, they stopped and stood, stock still and stared. Alliteration aside, they stared. And stared. Their eyes big. Their mother stood a few steps away, waiting in line to order, her eyes on her twirlers, their eyes on Sophie. Her eyes saw their eyes, yet they stared and she stood. Silent. I widened my eyes and smiled, said hello, encouraging, and they stared, still. Their mother, silent. I felt my eyes grow fearful and flat. They twirled away, their mother a crow in a black bikini , and I watched them as they crossed the sand, their grotesque dance, she hopped, they circled. They never looked back.