When you notice something on the floor, you never forget it. Even if you're not thinking about it, it's there subconciously. Like a crack in the sidewalk. You can't sweep up a crack. A crack is forever. A crack is a story of that particular bit of sidewalk's hardships and the days it's spent carrying fat people to their destinations. I bet that's how horses feel.Like sidewalks, but not cement. No, sidewalks are concrete, aren't they? I like cobblestones better â there's more to look at. I only say this because... what was the point again? Oh, right. I found an American dime on the sidewalk and I had never seen it there before. At first I thought I might just walk away, but I decided not to. I'd do something different for a change. I walk everywhere, even though I have a liscence and I could drive if I wanted to; but Dad took the keys to the Mustang, so it has to sit idle, waiting for Dad to come home. Only he's not coming home. He went to visit Nonna and Nonno and Aunt Amalia in Italy, but the planes weren't running because of the aliens, so he wasn't coming home. I wasn't sure if I likedthat or not, especially since he had the keys to the Mustang, but I could always borrow Aunt Fabiana's car if I had to. 'Cept that I can't drive on the left side of the road if I want to unless that's the direction I'm going, so I don't like driving. Of course, both sides of the road are the left, so really I supppose I could drive where ever I want. I remember that when another car drives past, and I stoop to pick up the dime. I was planning on giving it to Carreena (even though it was Eloisa's birthday) for her collection of international coins, so I put it in my pocket. Later I would remember that there was a hole in my pocket and find the dime in my shoe.
It was then that I saw a vaguely familiar face walk into me. It's the kind of thing that's difficult to miss, that. I was never one for names, and I didn't remember his.... I saw dark hair and dark eyes and and immediately dubbed him Frank until I could find out who he really was; because everybody is somebody, unless you're nobody and then you're invisible.
"Good morrow, Frank. A fine morning indeed." I tipped my hat, realizing only then that it was far from morning. Did I correct myself? Are worms the dumbest creatures on Earth? No. And yes. No to the first, and yes to the second... I think. Or was it the other way around? Is it important? "I bite my thumb in your general direction, sir. I might. I don't really. Isn't that an insult? Uhmm.... Yes. Then I'm sorry, Frank. Really I am. My name's Martina, but maybe you already know that. Martina Stoltzman, and nothing else." I paused for a moment wondering if that was the right choice of words, but I just shrugged it off. "I know you somehow, but I can't remember your name."
I had to think hard. Hard enough that I thought my brain might overheat, so I took off my hat to air out nearly shoulder-length reddish-brown hair. I've always loved the colour of my hair, mor than anyone else's. I've never seen hair prettier, except for Eloisa's, and I'm jealous. It's so red[i]. Red is a firetruck colour, not a hair colour. Most red hair is actually more copper or brownish like mine, or sometimes more blondish. Eloisa's is firetruck red. Red crayon red. Canadian flag red. No, they call that scarlet, and scarlet isn't really red. Maybe Eloisa's hair isn't [i]that red, but it is really long; which reminds me that his name is Nalin Spear, and that I had a Japanese Fanta commerical stuck in my head. I don't know what they're saying, but it's a very entertaining commerical. I don't remember how it goes, either. But I remember it. Then my eyes focused on the awning above my head and I tried to memorize it. It looks like every other awning on the street, but it's different. Very different.
"Nalin, isn't it?" I reached to take his hand. Something profound happened. Something struck me. I pointed at the hat in my hand. "Is this your card?" Ninety percent of my hats are generously donated by other people; some of that ninety I had decided would donate because a doctor once told me I might be in the early developmental stages of kleptomania, whatever that means. I replaced the hat on my head and stared at the guy who had appeared on Nalin's shoulder talking a mile a minute, but I still had time to take it all in. I never understood that phrase.... Mile a minute. How can someone talk a mile a minute? What's a mile, anyway? Meters are like yards, which are like feet, only bigger. "Caris." It was what he told me to call him, though his name was Kia. It didn't make sense to me, but maybe it was a middle name. That was why I let people call me Sadie, and why Aunt Fabiana called me Addison. I let myself taste his name on my tongue and smiled when I decided that it probably tasted like Turducken. A chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey. Apparently it's good, but I think it's probably the ultimate in heart-attack food. "I'm Martina. Just Martina. Unless you want to call me Sadie, and then you can do that, I guess."
I tried to think of how to respond to all his questions at once.... Finally I decided, though it was really more like my brain-to-mouth filter spasming and I ended up only half hearing what I said. But it made perfect sense. "Have you ever spoken to the Queen's Guard? They're excellent conversationalists."
It was then that I saw a vaguely familiar face walk into me. It's the kind of thing that's difficult to miss, that. I was never one for names, and I didn't remember his.... I saw dark hair and dark eyes and and immediately dubbed him Frank until I could find out who he really was; because everybody is somebody, unless you're nobody and then you're invisible.
"Good morrow, Frank. A fine morning indeed." I tipped my hat, realizing only then that it was far from morning. Did I correct myself? Are worms the dumbest creatures on Earth? No. And yes. No to the first, and yes to the second... I think. Or was it the other way around? Is it important? "I bite my thumb in your general direction, sir. I might. I don't really. Isn't that an insult? Uhmm.... Yes. Then I'm sorry, Frank. Really I am. My name's Martina, but maybe you already know that. Martina Stoltzman, and nothing else." I paused for a moment wondering if that was the right choice of words, but I just shrugged it off. "I know you somehow, but I can't remember your name."
I had to think hard. Hard enough that I thought my brain might overheat, so I took off my hat to air out nearly shoulder-length reddish-brown hair. I've always loved the colour of my hair, mor than anyone else's. I've never seen hair prettier, except for Eloisa's, and I'm jealous. It's so red[i]. Red is a firetruck colour, not a hair colour. Most red hair is actually more copper or brownish like mine, or sometimes more blondish. Eloisa's is firetruck red. Red crayon red. Canadian flag red. No, they call that scarlet, and scarlet isn't really red. Maybe Eloisa's hair isn't [i]that red, but it is really long; which reminds me that his name is Nalin Spear, and that I had a Japanese Fanta commerical stuck in my head. I don't know what they're saying, but it's a very entertaining commerical. I don't remember how it goes, either. But I remember it. Then my eyes focused on the awning above my head and I tried to memorize it. It looks like every other awning on the street, but it's different. Very different.
"Nalin, isn't it?" I reached to take his hand. Something profound happened. Something struck me. I pointed at the hat in my hand. "Is this your card?" Ninety percent of my hats are generously donated by other people; some of that ninety I had decided would donate because a doctor once told me I might be in the early developmental stages of kleptomania, whatever that means. I replaced the hat on my head and stared at the guy who had appeared on Nalin's shoulder talking a mile a minute, but I still had time to take it all in. I never understood that phrase.... Mile a minute. How can someone talk a mile a minute? What's a mile, anyway? Meters are like yards, which are like feet, only bigger. "Caris." It was what he told me to call him, though his name was Kia. It didn't make sense to me, but maybe it was a middle name. That was why I let people call me Sadie, and why Aunt Fabiana called me Addison. I let myself taste his name on my tongue and smiled when I decided that it probably tasted like Turducken. A chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey. Apparently it's good, but I think it's probably the ultimate in heart-attack food. "I'm Martina. Just Martina. Unless you want to call me Sadie, and then you can do that, I guess."
I tried to think of how to respond to all his questions at once.... Finally I decided, though it was really more like my brain-to-mouth filter spasming and I ended up only half hearing what I said. But it made perfect sense. "Have you ever spoken to the Queen's Guard? They're excellent conversationalists."