Kinda Like When, You Know, A Record Skips...

I passed her on the way to the store. She flashed me one of those cute, surly little snarls young punk rock girls always give strangers when they're walking around at night. I figured that was the beginning and end of it.

But it wasn't the beginning; I'd seen her before. While riding in my brothers' car, we both spotted her on the sidewalk, snarling at a completely different set of passersby. Dreadlocks in a ponytail, faded band t-shirt, cutoff camo pants... my brother wondered aloud if it was our friend Erica. I guess if you squinted and looked at her from an angle, or were the driver of a car moving past her, she could totally pass as a twin of our friend. Like a doppelganger or something. I figured that was the beginning and end of it then, too.

She was still at the bus stop when I was on my way home. There must have been some sort of strange delay, and I said just as much when she wondered aloud in my direction what the hell was taking the bus so damn long. She asked me if I had a cigarette, which I did not. She then volunteered that she was getting used to the bus schedule, so I asked where she was from. There is a hostel in the neighborhood, so I could expect her to be from literally anywhere in the world.

I can't recall now where she said she was from because my attention was elsewhere. I was willing myself away from staring at the cross-hatching of self-inflicted razor slashes on her inner thighs where her shorts rode up. She crossed her legs self-consciously and I was suddenly able to conversate again, like a spell was lifted. I verified that the bus should definitely show up sooner or later. The schedule runs until 11PM, I assured her, which was still an hour or so away.

I was pretty sure there was little left to discuss, so I offered my name and held out my hand to shake hers. She stood up and said "See you around. By the way, my name is Erica-