Skin Deep

“What do you use on your skin?” the woman mouthed from across the pew. “Even my cousin from out of town had noted how pretty your skin is,” she whispered from beneath her billowing church hat.

I was shocked. You see, I had surrendered my battle against acne years ago. The medicine cabinet at home still holds my abandoned collection of  Proactiv, Neutrogena, and Clearasil bottles–all victims of my persistent pimples. Despite a relatively healthy diet and only the occasional Coke and candy, acne and their resulting blemishes have always been  frequent visitors.

Detour Down Memory Lane

A quick trip in and out was all I’d planned. But fate had something else in mind.

The store was buzzing with activity. Gingerly weaving between patrons, I trekked down the familiar aisles and raced back to secure my spot in the winding checkout line.

 Pitter-pattering my feet with impatience as the line crept forward, I searched for a worthy distraction. The neighboring bottles of fruit juices, wooden canes and organic candy would have to do. I was tinkering with a cane that boasted of ties with Africa, when an older lady with a regal air floated into line behind me. I turned, curious to learn the shopper’s identity. Not a flare of recognition. I offered the pretty lady a southern smile, a grin that says I don’t know you but hello, and returned to fiddling with all the merchandise within reach.

Ode to the “Cardboard Citizen”

“I said ‘Hi,’ but you didn’t hear me,” a voice uttered from the seat behind, the words barely audible above the roar of the train.

I glanced back, curious to see their owner.

A pair of dull eyes stared back at me knowingly: I knew him.