She leans forward now, and puts her forearm on the row in front of her to use it as her pillow, and her head follows. Her hair is black and smooth, it reaches her nape. A handfull of it is held in place behind her ear by a silver Bobby pin, but the rest fall past her left shoulder and dance each time the bus jerks forward. She is wearing a grey stripped dress that stops a little before her knee. She’s sleeping, while she clutches her small green umbrella and her black bag on her lap with her right hand. Her fingernails are short and unpainted, she appears not to have much time on her hands for sleep or for the frills of life. And so she makes up for the inadequate time in bed in the Trotro as the vehicle mumbles in a traffic jam.
Monday mornings for her are not as terrible as they are believed to be. This one especially. Her two little boys had gone to their grandfather’s on Sunday and stayed over. They would get home with her father much later in the evening, with chocolate ice cream smeared all over their faces, and an endless grin on her father’s.
“They need a man in their lives.”, he would say whenever he wants her to leave them with him when they visit. He is a doting father, to both herself and her little boys.
OurNanaYaa (c) 2016