We were the queens of stolen glances, Spencer and I. For three years we rode the same bus on weekday mornings, the S2 down sixteenth street. Spencer rode twelve stops and got off on P Street. I rode three stops beyond that.

I can still remember the first day she got onto the bus. She stood at the bus stop in black slacks visible beneath a gray trench coat. The temperature was somewhere around twenty or so degrees, cold enough for her to wear a hat, or scarf, or even ear muffs, but I was glad that she hadn’t. I was glad that her golden hair was down, and curly, and flowing about her face. The sunlight bounced off of each curl and seems to warm the air surrounding it, surrounding her. She wore these gray-tinted aviators that covered much of her face. She could have been a movie star really.

She stepped onto the bus as if she were weightless, one black boot before the other, and signaled to the bus driver with just a wave of her hand that she would pay him in a moment. She dropped into the seat across from me and begin rummaging in the green messenger bag over her shoulder. She pulled out a leather wallet and produced a dollar bill. When she stood again and approached the driver, he simply smiled into the mirror and waved her away. I didn’t blame him. I wouldn’t have bothered making her pay either. She smiled at this and then returned to her bag, shoving the dollar bill into her coat pocket.

It was then, that I realized I was staring. My mouth was hanging open and I was gaping at her, eating up every inch of her tiny frame. Well, she wasn’t tiny really, she was a bit taller than me give or take a few heel inches, a goddess if I’ve ever seen one. Anyway, upon this realization I turned away, peering out of the front window. The bus roared on down sixteenth. I prayed that she hadn’t seen me staring, that those aviators hadn’t hidden the glare that she gave this creepy teenager staring at her, me.

No such luck.

When I finally found the energy to turn away form the window, she was gazing silently back at me, aviators in her lap, and a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. I considered smiling back, wanted to even, but I was too busy lost in her eyes. They were, big and wide and blue and seemed full of hope and happiness and excitement. I didn’t understand how that was possible, for a person’s eyes to look as if they held the world inside of them. But hers did. And she was looking at me.