Roadside Musings

This was going to be an email to my cousin Elaine. I thought it would make more sense to put here, since Elaine will read it here anyway. Instead of changing my tenses so that they make grammatical sense, I will say that it is more artistic to leave them as they are. So there.

I was sitting on the side of a deserted road at dusk (not twilight), the golden August sunset at my back, illuminating the glossy, vernal leaves on the trees lining the opposite side of the road.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for a bus that would not come.

Is that it? That bus over there? No no, Sofia, that is the 125 to Downtown. You want to 128 to the Admiral District.

Waiting, waiting. Knitting, knitting.

Aha! Here is the exciting part! The turning of the heel. For this sock, I am trying a garter stitch heel. Daring, I know, but it just might work, according to a hint I got from an old woman at the sock-knitting convention in Portland.

I need another needle for this part.

I have no other needle for this part.

What do I do? I look in my bag for a bobby pin; I sometimes use those as stitch holders when I’m out and about. My eye falls upon a blade of grass on the side of this quiet and sunny road I am sitting on the side of. The grass is uncut and unwatered. That means long and dry. A strong piece of straw will work fine as a stitch holder. I have to place the stitches on carefully so as not to break the grass or split a stitch.

An old red car is passing by. It has seen better days. Its five seats are filled. The music is pounding. “Music.” A man sticks his head out of the window as they go gallumphing by my bus stop.


he cries.

What do they want? People who stick their head out of car windows and yell at dorks in straw hats, knitting by the roadside; why do they do that? To scare? To amuse? To get written about on a WordPress blog?

I looked behind me. The sun was setting through the trees. It was a nice evening to be sitting on the side of the road, waiting for the bus. But what’s that over there? It’s a watermelon-flavored Jolly Rancher! The wrapper is still on it. Do I dare? I know the Yao cousins would not approve; they didn’t take well to my eating strangers’ leftovers the last time I tried that. But the Yao cousins are not here. There is no one to stop me.

Still, it is kind of strange to eat candies one finds at bus stops on deserted roadsides. But I’m so bored! I think I will.

But then, this isn’t the best part of town. Perhaps I should bring it home and wash it off. Yes, that would be better. Fine, Yao cousins, you win this time. I’ll just put it in my bag.

But what’s that at the bottom of my bag? Smarties! How did Smarties get in my bag? Why, Yao cousin Elaine gave them to me! At the restaurant when she so cruelly tricked me into not paying for my own meal. My Chinese mama is ashamed of the way I let them pay for me, but how am I supposed to fight against the sneaky and aggressive tactics employed by Elaine?

Whatever. I guess I can eat candy whilst waiting for the bus, after all!

Whup! There’s the bus. I can go home now. Go home and mail a letter to the Yao cousins. Put away my knitting. Put away my candy. Grab my bus pass. Say “Good evening!” to the bus driver with a big drippy smile.

Goodbye, roadside.


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