Letter 6 – a letter to a stranger
Dear Stranger,
When you look at me, what do you see? Do you see me, in all my animal print, Lee Coopered glory, jokily flirting with random guys, laughing my head off? Do you see me in the middle of a bunch of mates, daring someone to do something stupid? Or do you see my fake smile, the tear that escapes when no one is looking, and the self-conscious movements?
I wonder what you think of me. Do you see me as some manipulative bitch, someone who should be put into an insane asylum, or just your average teenage girl? Am I the kind of girl you would walk over and say hi to, or the kind of girl you avoid?
I would love to know what runs through your mind as I sprint up down escalators, or yell at a shell-shocked assistant in Hollister over the prices. As I queue in Starbucks for a chocolate muffin, do you think I’m fat? When I’m hugging my guy biffle Gorman, while wearing an admittedly tiny pair of shorts and a relatively tight top, do you think I’m a slut?
I wonder if I could change your opinion if I noticed you noticing me.
But up until now, I’ve only thought about how I look with people. What about when I’m by myself? When I’m waiting for my lift home, with my head down and my hands deep in my pockets, leaning against a wall or standing at the edge of a pavement, trying not to be noticed, do you feel sorry for me? Or would you call me a loner?
I think, stranger, what you think I am depends on who you are. And I can’t change who you are, so I can’t change your opinion of me. And I don’t care anymore. I probably won’t ever see you again, so what’s there to worry about? Whatever you think of me, think on, because it makes no difference to me.
Strangerish Love,
The Brunette With The Big Eyes
