Essays on Reclamation, Identity, Enjoyment, Belonging, Art, Nature, Beauty, Food, or whatever I’m really interested in.

 

Episode Title: “The Bench That Was Too Small.” Heather

 

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The juicery whirs with blueberry smoothies,
kale juices, and acai bowls.
–
On the bench in the corner, a skinny blonde girl, in a blue and white sundress, folds in on herself, and scooches over, then over, then over, then half of her about to fall onto the floor.
–
A guy tall lanky, sandy brown hair, walked in after her, ordered his acai bowl, sat to wait, introduced himself.
–
She responded with a barely there voice.
–
He leans over her now, from the other side of the bench, scooching, and scooching, and scooching closer, as she scooches and scooches away.
–
He talks loudly half over her face, half in her ear,
Where are you from?
Where do you like to hang out?
She can’t get up and walk away without making it clear that she is getting up and walking away from him.
And he seems… focused.
–
It’s not a busy enough day, in the shoebox of a juicery, or out on the sidewalk, for her to get lost in, or blend into, the safety of a crowd.
The block is long. One of those deserted L.A. streets. All shops. No people.
–
So… she leans back,
folding into herself,
with one eye looking over his shoulder,
waiting for them to call her smoothie.
As half of her falls,
off the bench
about to tumble
onto
the
floor.

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© July 2025. Originally Posted in Word Snapshots. All Rights Reserved.