I don’t mean the casual observer
I’m talking about someone who will stand at a checkout line
in the supermarket and study the merchandise of the customer in front of them.
Then concentrate on each of their articles, decide what it might be used
for, and imagine
what type of life they were living.
They’d sneak into people’s lives with their eyes and their
brain.
No one escapes it.
There lying on the counter, waiting for its turn to be
scanned, is Mucinex. Obviously someone is ill in the family or has sinus
problems.
The next thing is a medium size box of Milk Bones, with a
Beagle on the front, which tells them this senior citizen must own a small dog.
In back of the box was Mascara Noir, which was quickly
packed into her purse, before they could identify its brand. But after studying
the woman’s attractive face, as her spectacles dangled from her nose,
revealing a very becoming green eye shadow, it didn’t matter what company
produced it.
Without purpose these people see things beyond their present
appearance and sometimes connect them to a story idea. Then if there is time,
they
might even take notes, at the expense of a clean napkin. And eventually
relive those moments of beauty.
I know, because, I’m one of them.
This talent has been with me from childhood. I was never
taught, and I did not glean it from any lecture on writing.
I not sure this is a positive thing or not.
These are my day dreams. The ones that let me get a glimpse
into other people’s lives, which is fascinating, no matter where or when the
circumstance takes me.
I cannot help myself to a portion of their lives, just by
looking.
Is that wrong?
Am I a writer or just a voyeur, with imagination?
I’ll let you decide.
