"Look," whispered the girl, "I've caught the stars." She tipped the small wooden bowl slowly and reverently, and the stars poured out over her hand like a blessing.
The boy scooped up a handful and let it trickle down in uneven streams, rattling like a reprimand of his disrespect. "They're just beads. Plastic ones too, not even glass. Come on, let's go look at that huge stall. Bet it's selling candy." He nudged her when she continued sweeping her fingers through the shining box. "He-loooo? You listening?"
She was, to the beads' secrets. Their rhythmic whispers soothed her with a long history of rise and fall from a safe point of view. She half-closed her eyes, focusing on the intricate turning of sunlight in one graceful never-ending dance.
He sighed impatiently. "Come on, let's g--" His words dried up as the sunlight was locked out of the beads' chest. The girl also looked up into the sudden dimness.
"You like the beads?" The store owner grinned down at them. "You like Papa Hoen's beads? Are very pretty, carved so the light breaks into a- what is it?- rainbow, ah. Buy some? Decorate your room with them! Or you two be a-sharing house together soon?" He waggled his eyebrows, looking at her, then him keenly.
The girl blushed with the sun's radiance, and dropped the bowl hastily. It clattered down onto the bed of plastic crystals, a hollow knock and a unanimously condemning clash. She backed away, tripping over her words, "We need to go- thank you- that stall down there- maybe another time-" She clutched his arm and yanked him out into the bright desert sun. They dissolved into monochrome yellow and white- opaque, yet clear.
"Something I say?" he murmured to himself. His interest darted to a standing speck in the featureless crowd outside. He leans over his treasures and offers the dropped bowl to the woman with a cheery smile and solemn eyes.
"You like Papa Hoen's beads?"
Listening without watching to something you want to participate in seems to funnel the sound like a microphone. It's like they're right next to you, but far away. Unreachable. The TV can be as high-def and cutting-edge as money can buy. But they're not there, with you, in real life. It's not the same. Never can be the same, no matter what you think.
Impossible to repress is the thought that if I was playing with my friends, this is how this would go...she would say that...
Then I remember that I'm too 'predictable' and that I'd frustrate myself and confuzzle everyone else.
I don't need that.
Detached but touching- just like Kethry's explanation of planes!
I'm tired, wistful and lonely. Just tonight. Tomorrow will be something else. I know it will be.
But that's tomorrow. Today is...today.
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