Feelings
Frightday!
By Emmanuelle
It was just another workday. Though it was work not like any other. Only a few dared venture into it with unflagging zest and energy, day to day to day. Pauline is one of the very driven few. That I know. That I like.
This place she had gone to was unfamiliar, but not unknown. She had trudged through same places before. Breathed the almost same still air, saw the almost same wind when it whipped, touched the almost same dust as it settled back to earth.
And she had heard the almost same whispered whimpers about the almost same kinds of people. And having heard these before, she had listened for other clearer sounds. She had even talked to the noisy talking ones, the nervous ones. And so had guessed what was not talked about. And had searched. And had found. Had gazed into the eyes of the close-mouthed. And from the silence of the lipless, had lip-learned more.
Pauline follows, with camera and with recorder and with her memory cells, this people’s representative who has more than any of us, but gives more than any of us would if we could have what she has.
Pauline has a nose for history. More. She has a sense for history still to unfold. And this girl-woman she follows is writing, rewriting history to her story.
Let us call her as Pauline does. Babe. As in Babe in the Woods.
They left the shelter where Babe again had given more of herself. Her thoughts. Her heart. And dollops of that which was precious but not anymore so precious to her when it was more precious to others.
Pauline sat next to Babe and the assist. Security was thin. For what is security but insecurity with security? Then the phones started ringing do not go where you are going, abort, divert, postpone. Please. Please. Please.
They went on to wherever they were going. As if the phones never rang in the first place.
And when Babe stepped down to the place where people had emptied to scurry away from surely the sun, and possibly the gun, Pauline turned guard overnight. Or was it overday? Just one of the guys, minus the brawn and the hunk. She sheltered Babe with her camera, her recorder, her lipstick, her mini-notebook and her pen. Her body, too, of course. And her memory cells.
It was just another frightday.
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