saw a pretty lady on the train today, in a big tweed coat and a purple scarf. she had amandapalmer hair; red, a little, but mostly brown, curling unkempt around her face in a funny bob. her nose had a little bump. her eyes were very blue and against her pale skin and reddy hair, with strays hovering in the air above her head, they were smiling. she had one hand on an old leather bag, the other, around a baby. the baby didn't cry or scream or mumble. it looked happy. they were friends.
people in the train carriage smiled at the baby, and mother looked on and smiled to herself. she watched her baby in his home knitted booties and they looked like jesus and mary, the connection of something bigger than ordinary.
i thought of what bec said; that people loved children because they represented new life; and then of kurt vonnegut and his characters; that he didn't create real characters because there were already too many 3-dimensional, living, breathing people in the world, and look where it had got us. i thought of bec and little fin, or simon and nadine and flynn, of helen and patrick. of izzy, tilly and of murray. of my mother. of this lady. i will paint her one day.
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