Small smudges on my soul 2
That the incident in the post below bothered me so much is ironic, considering I'd just committed a much clearer moral transgression. I stole a scarf. I know, what a weekend. I was trying the scarf in the mirror when I realized it had no security tag. It was a chain store so when I checked other items, they all those big electronic tags that make it impossible to try on anything comfortably. I continued trying other things, contemplating taking the scarf. And I did. I wrapped the scarf around my neck, paid for two other items that I wanted and walked out of the store with a scarf I had not paid for. The items I bought included a tie and a more expensive scarf than the one I took.
I'm no moral relativist. I took something that did not belong to me. Had I been caught, I'd have deserved whatever iniquity the store felt fit to visit upon me.
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Waiting for the train later that evening, I spied a girl twirling by me. That's right, twirling. She is probably about 5'7 and she was twirling very elegantly to something playing on her ipod. Her blonde hair was dyed blue at it's base and flipped outwards mid neck. She covered her head with a French beret, wore a long flowing turquoise skirt, a cream sweater and a black jacket. She was a gracious wood sprite misplaced in Manhattan's grimy subway. I leaned against the stairs and watched her, grinning openly. I wanted to speak to her, to hear what she was listening to and know how she could so brightly do those twirls over and over again even with people watching. I guess she may have become a bit self-conscious cause she twirled away. A guy she passed turned to me and grinned, "that was something." I wonder if it's a masculine thing to want to possess beauty. She really was entrancing and I'm smiling even as I write this and think of her. Yet, I wonder why I couldn't just enjoy it and be content with my memory, why I hope she'd read this and be flattered and gladdened to know someone thought her absolutely beautiful and delightful, why I however briefly considered ever posting my first ever missed connection in whatever magazine it is that wood sprites read.
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Small smudges on my soul. Maybe not so small?
I'm no moral relativist. I took something that did not belong to me. Had I been caught, I'd have deserved whatever iniquity the store felt fit to visit upon me.
_______________________________________________________________
Waiting for the train later that evening, I spied a girl twirling by me. That's right, twirling. She is probably about 5'7 and she was twirling very elegantly to something playing on her ipod. Her blonde hair was dyed blue at it's base and flipped outwards mid neck. She covered her head with a French beret, wore a long flowing turquoise skirt, a cream sweater and a black jacket. She was a gracious wood sprite misplaced in Manhattan's grimy subway. I leaned against the stairs and watched her, grinning openly. I wanted to speak to her, to hear what she was listening to and know how she could so brightly do those twirls over and over again even with people watching. I guess she may have become a bit self-conscious cause she twirled away. A guy she passed turned to me and grinned, "that was something." I wonder if it's a masculine thing to want to possess beauty. She really was entrancing and I'm smiling even as I write this and think of her. Yet, I wonder why I couldn't just enjoy it and be content with my memory, why I hope she'd read this and be flattered and gladdened to know someone thought her absolutely beautiful and delightful, why I however briefly considered ever posting my first ever missed connection in whatever magazine it is that wood sprites read.
_______________________________________________________________
Small smudges on my soul. Maybe not so small?
posted by Flint at 4:15 PM
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