She's sitting about thirty feet away from me, eating a bagel.
And I
don't
know what's on the bagel, and I don't know what
she's drinking in her plain
mug, and I don't know whether the boy she's
sitting with is her lover other friend or
her co-worker or her brother or her
partner in crime. And
I
don't know if she keeps looking at me because
she's intrigued in me or
wants to fuck me or is worried because
she keeps catching me looking at her
or she's bored or is actually looking at something
on the wall directly
behind me. And I don't know if we were
introduced at a party if she'd
listen in rapt attention to my life story or
exchange pleasantries and
be
on her way or innocently flirt with me and then get
to know me a little
and
get scared and excuse herself for another drink or
push herself on me like
I ain't leaving tonight without getting her phone
number. And if we dated
I don't know if she'd be a skater or a student or
an office worker or an
artist or a slacker or a psycho or a sorority girl
(well okay probably
not
a sorority girl) but if she'd be selfish or giving or
sex-crazed or
prudish
or boring or happy or passionate. And if we got
married and had a child
I
don't know if she'd be caring or controlling or
overprotective or
under protective or suburban or urban or rural or
give up smoking or take
up
martinis at three in the afternoon or a leader
or a follower or a den mother or a little league coach or celebrate anniversaries or file for
divorce. And if we lived a long and full life and one
day I finally got
that cancer my mom insists I'm going to get I
don't know if she'd curse
me
or cry for me or enter a period of self-imposed
exile from humanity or
try
to get on with her life or marry again or raise our
children to always
carry a little piece of their daddy in their heart
or blow her
inheritance
on a trip to Bermuda and drink Mai Tais on the beach and flirt with
twenty-one year old cabana boys.

However, she is eating a bagel. That much I know for sure.