Standing For Someone

A sparrow-like woman in her sixties stood hopefully on the corner between the Safeway and the Bellevue Art Musuem, which has been closed now for several months. Her feathery gray hair fluttered out from under the nest of her pillowy brown hat, and her sensible rainproof slicker billowed about her delicate knees. She wore a smile that grandmothers have when they take cookies out of the oven, and in her gentle grasp she held, not a plate of nutty brownies, but a neatly-lettered placard which read, “Pavarotti tortured Cindy.”

Standing between the museum that closed because its exhibit of twentieth century clothing was considered too shocking, and the Safeway, which bore a banner in the window, “Tyson Breasts, 1.95 lb.” this auntie of the absurd seemed perfectly at peace and completely at the center of her universe. She had found her delta, her estuary of connection, and was content to illustrate in her own person the mystery of being. I envied her.

I only saw her for a second as I passed her in traffic. I would have liked to know who did her lettering. It was lovely.