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A Saturday in twos.

published: 2010-09-18

There they were. The girls in pairs. Two tall women stood next to me. They had strong jawbones, deepset blue eyes, dark hair. Their hair. Long and thick and curly. Reddish hues. Healthy hair, despite their age. Fourty, is what I guessed. I kept looking at them, they must have been sisters. Yet they were so different. The one wore her parting to the right side, the other to the left. One had slightly more curl to her hair. She wore a skirt. The other one wore baggy jeans. I wanted them to make eye-contact with me so I could ask. Yet both transfixed their gaze past me, over me, purposefully, on the various styles of coffees. Sisters, therefore. Is what I thought.
Next to me came to sit two young women. Late teens. Blonde, fake blondes and damaged, messy, hair. Dressed in the latest styles made affordable by chains of stores. They were talking about what present to give a friend. Something from H&M. Machiattos and brownies. This is what young women these days do, I thought. They go and have overpriced coffees. Together. As friends.
Next, two muslimas of that same young age came to sit in those chairs. One of them had a baby. The other a veil. The mother’s hair was straightened. Their nails manicured. Dressed in silk-like blacks. Polyester, in fact. And Louis Vutton purses. Real, perhaps. Or fake. They too discussed presents. A coupon for a book, maybe, or how about H&M? They did so in Dutch. And when they spoked in Arabic they lowered their voices. Dutch is a loud language, it seems.

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