Split second fantasy. He’s idling his truck at the stop sign, waiting for her to reach the curb because he thinks she’s cute. She steps into the street, waves. He nods back. Accelerates forward. Gone as fast as second thoughts drive her fantasy away.
Last week, watching her friend’s hair fussery, she avoids her own reflection in the restroom mirror. Says, someday, someday perhaps, I’ll be with someone who will tell me everyday that I am beautiful.
You won’t be, you know, her friend replies. Not until you see it for yourself. Never once taking her eyes off herself.