Tad

Chapter Two: Marsha

I didn't normally see girls crying in public. That's a private activity, right? And it wasn't like there was a just single tear running down her cheek. She was full-on sobbing. Wailing. It was a show. Kind of embarrassing, really.

With the momentum of my walking, I kept going past her, ready to open up the store, but then I saw her small shoulders heaving, and paused.

She looked like she needed something, I don't know what. A Kleenex. A shoulder. A good meal.

So I stopped for a second. Then I decided to talk to her. I walked around to the front of the bus bench and got a good look at her.

Anime come to life.

Her straight black hair had been cut in a blunt bob, with heavy bangs across her forehead and the back chopped up to about ear level. Her face was painted on with so much makeup: lots of black shit around her eyes, white powder, red lips. The makeup was all smearing from her tears.

While the makeup hid what she really looked like, I was sure, she was also really pretty, with cheekbones that jutted out and a small mouth. Her dark eyes were so big, with huge lashes and large whites.

Continuing with the look, she had on knee-high socks, a mini dress with an apron, and Mary Jane shoes with the strap going across the top of her small feet. She was tiny, so the clunky shoes overwhelmed her body. Her slim, pretty legs tangled under the bench. A Strawberry Shortcake metal lunch box nestled next to her thigh and she had an old book in her lap.

"Are you okay?" I asked quietly, crouching down to her level.

She sniffled, wiping her nose and eyes, smudging the makeup even more. "Yeah, thanks. I'm so sorry."

I straightened up and shuffled my feet. "Look, not to be nosy, but do you need anything?"

She gave me a small smile. "No, I'm just sad that Matthew died."

Oh how terrible.

"I'm sorry. Were you close?"

She held up the yellowed book: Anne of Green Gables. "Matthew is in this book."

Huh? I was so confused. "You're crying because a fictional character died?"

She shrugged, the last of her tears fading. "I cry at the sad parts in books. I even cry during puppy chow commercials."

I had no response to this.

Girls.

She continued, matter-of-factly, "That's just the way I am. Sorry to stop you. Heading somewhere? Work?"

I repeat: Girls. Still, I nodded. "I work right here."

"A record store? I thought those all went out of business."

I let out a breath. Not this again. "We're ironically hip, and everything is super expensive."

"Oh, good," she said sarcastically.

In the space of a minute, I wanted to hug this girl, shake her, have her explain herself, and spank her. But something about her, the fineness of her features under her makeup, the sad way her little body slumped on the bench, made me want to get to know her better.

"Listen," I said, "do you want to come in? You can get cleaned up and then catch your bus to wherever you were going."

"No. I'll be fine."

Okay, whatever. Some people don't want to be helped. "You sure?"

"I need to get cleaned up?"

I nodded.