March 5. I still can't forget those eyes.



IT WAS LUNACY

Yesterday I was sitting in the Toyota Service center guest area waiting for my Four Runner to appear after its bi-annual service. As usual, I had a good book with me to help pass the time. This book had the added attraction that some of the passages made me laugh out loud, a very good thing. Every so often in the two hours I was there, I glanced up from my book and observed the other waitees around me.

There is one young Asian man who is pacing the big room continuously. Every time he passes me he misses crashing into my feet by less than an inch. It doesn’t matter if my legs are stretched out in front of me or pulled in close.

There is an old man clutching a water bottle who keeps inspecting the new Toyota floor models with great concentration. He’s read the dealer sticker on the burgundy Scion in front of me at least six times.

A Latino woman in her fifties walks past me, accompanied by a little girl four or five years old. The girl carries a purse and a doll in a toy bassinette. They walk past me and settle on a group of gray couches in an alcove to my right. A flat screen TV is in front of the couches, the volume just loud enough to irritate me.

I read some more, I laugh out loud and look up from my book for a minute. The Latino woman is slumped on one of the couches sound asleep, snoring slightly; the little girl’s purse and doll are her pillows.

The girl comes out of the alcove and walks a short arc around me right to left. I look at her eyes and they are full of anger and combativeness aimed at me like loaded guns. I’m shocked by her look and confused. Why does she look at me like this? I keep my eyes on hers all thru her walking arc until she disappears beyond the wall on my left. The hate never leaves her face.

I look back at the woman still sleeping on the couch and think how irresponsible she is to let this child wander through a room full of strangers. I think about how much I’d like to go find the child and discipline her, yell at her, spank her. I try to read again.

The girl appears once more, left to right now, I try to ignore her. She passes me and stops to slam her hand down on the table next to me as hard as she can. She glares at me and lifts her chin in defiance and victory then disappears into the alcove where her mother still sleeps.

It is all I can do to keep my seat and not respond. I tell myself how crazy it is to let this strange child affect me so. I remind myself that I’ve been sitting on too much repressed anger for too long and that I am overreacting. I try to feel sorry for a four year old who is already being groomed for a life time of servitude to the roles her society will lock her into.

I fail. I know its lunacy, but I hate her. And for the rest of the day, I can’t get her eyes out of my mind.