Wednesday, Late Winter

Her teeth clicked as she spoke. That was the only reliable thing about her. She was usually late and at times early. I happened to find her during an overwhelming spell of insecurity, which housed her like a sari worn by an Indian woman. The only confidence she had was in her ineptness. The click of her teeth sounded like a machine operated by a man, shorter than her longest tooth, forcing her to masticate the very words escaping her mouth. On long days, I would drown out her voice -- her  incessant indecision -- and secretly wish for her teeth and that little man to fall to the table. I felt ashamed for such thoughts. The sun spilled through the dusty window blinds into the room painting stripes across her face. She actually seemed quite beautiful.  It's amazing what the early evening light could do to someone. Especially in late winter, a week before daylight savings.