Who is that woman?

Her hair, frizzy and dry, was a tri-blend of color that needed … at the very least … a bit of attention.

She looked vaguely familiar but I avoided making eye contact. It’s a small place. It would be awkward, if not painful, to stare directly into the mirror.

If this had been a campground, I would have been the tent pole; with a full circle of fabric cascading around my neck, covering the place I inhabit almost entirely. I held my phone between my two hands, prayer style. I could still feel its warmth even if I couldn’t read the screen. Like the fire.

It might be nice to be small under the stars. Quiet-like.

The young woman who had welcomed me motioned to a seat and then disappeared into a back room to........

© The Saratogian