Things Strangers Say: Girl with Bangs
“You are so beautiful.”
My stupid mouth. It just speaks on it’s own.
She looks embarrassed, “Oh, no. I wore this hat because I haven’t washed my hair in days.”
Great. Now I have to prove it to her.
“If I wore a hat like that, I would look like a teenage Mexican boy.”
I hope she’s not Mexican…
She tells me, “You’re hair is so long and beautiful. And that color. Is it dyed?”
Clearly, she felt obligated to return the compliment.
“Oh, thanks. No, this is the color.”
I hate the color of my hair. It’s same the color your poop is if you have too much iron in your blood.
This conversation needs to end.
I don’t like her face anymore.
I smile and put my ear buds back in and turn my eyes are back to my screen.
Maybe that’s why my mouth is so uncontrollable.
My voice gets cabin fever.
Oh, god. She’s saying something –
“What’s your name?”
She tells me her name and I don’t care but I still remember it’s Susan.
I always liked that name.
I wish I could call her Suzie.
She wouldn’t like that though.
I can tell.
She has bangs.
And not the cool kind.
The kind that make someone look uptight.
She asks if I live around there.
“Yes, on Alfred.”
She had just moved to the neighborhood and so did I.
We’re the same age.
She asks, “Want to be friends?”
She thinks she’s being cute because she saw Kate Hudson say that in a movie once.
I tell her that I don’t have any friends.
That’s a lie.
I have a lot of friends.
Sometimes I feel like I have too many friends.
I start feeling guilty.
I hate that strangers assume I’m a good person because I’m plumper than average.
We exchange numbers and I put my ear buds back in for the second time.
I feel bad – judging her and lying to her.
“I’m sorry, I have a deadline and I really need to focus but call me anytime!”
There is no deadline.
I’m writing about her and her bangs.