MEMEHUNTER

Mnemosyne

A day full of memories.

Most clear, probably because most recent, is my memory of the girl I used to see on my way into school each morning. Most mornings. Weird, how in a city like this you can still see the same people over and over again simply by travelling at the same time each morning and standing in the same place.

Anyway.

She had a book. About A5 size, although I was not then as conversant with paper sizes as I am now (thankyou temping). A blue, school note book, if memory serves (and I think she does). She got on the train before I did and got off afterwards, so as far as I knew her life, she spent all her time writing in the A5, blue, school notebook. She leant on a briefcase on her lap and, hunched slightly over it, would scrawl away on the pages of the book. I remember thinking that the ballpoint pen would probably be marking the pages behind, if not the briefcase itself. I remember how fluently she seemed to be writing, not ever (so it seems to me now) stopping to consider, to compose, completely ignoring the people either side of her. I never got to sit next to her, so I have no idea what she was writing. It could have been work, I suppose. Hurridly finished reports, notes or lessons. She smiled, though, as she wrote. As if she were pleased, as if she were enjoying her own composition.

I'm not smiling. Maybe I should smile more when I write. Maybe that would make a difference.

I imagined her writing would be big and curly and overly cursive. So that the words were only sometimes distinct. Friendly, but private.

That's what I was thinking about on my way home tonight. Dinner with friends. Playing goosberry towards the end. Ah well.

So. Green tea finished in one warm, sleepy gulp and off to bed. I gave the backs of my hands a good staring at on my way back. Let's just see.

Night.

posted by Memehunter @ 12:37 AM