Last Friday while I was waiting for Josh to pick me up after work, three women passed by on the sidewalk. They're regulars. I often see them at that time and place.
They're all what you would call "huge" women, no doubt clinically obese. Their attire is modest and middle-class, casual, not "office." slacks and blouses, jeans and tee shirts. One is blonde, another has short hair about my color before I started coloring it -- mouse-brown. I don't recall the third's coloring. I'll observe more carfeully next time I see them.
I'm a product of my society (as though that were an excuse) -- until Friday their chief -- their
only attribute in my mind was their size.
But Friday one of them had a little jar of soap and a bubble ring, and was blowing bubbles as they walked along chatting and laughing. The light breeze was at their backs, so the bubbles streamed forward a little with the force of her breath, then swung to the street side as they matched the wind. I couldn't help but smile -- that's what bubbles are for, they make you smile.
And then, a full 30 seconds after the women had passed out of my view, the air between the buildings on either side of the street was filled with bubbles! The ones she'd gifted on the previous block were just going by my point of view from inside my building's foyer.
They glimmered in the sun, danced and curlicued in the micro-breeze eddies, and then they, too, were out of my range of sight.
I sat transfixed by the little magic, and then I recalled that these ladies are
always smiling when I see them, always engaged in lively conversation.
How our prejudices blind us to the vibrant truth.
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