On my way to work in the morning, I always see this skinny old man sitting at the bus stop, although he's more hipster than old man with his black jeans, black leather jacket, slicked back gray hair, and silver hoop earring. His face looks weathered and leathery like he's seen and been through a hell of a lot. And yet--here's an anomaly--he wears Keds! The ankle-rise white canvas ones! Which comes as a surprise to me, considering he otherwise fits the Harley biker type. But anywho, day after day, there he sits at the bus stop, his elbows on his knees, his earring twinkling in the sunlight. I suspect he smells like cigarettes and hair gel, and his hands are rough to the touch but gentle to hold. I guess he's single but adores women, always holding doors open for them and telling them to watch out for themselves. I imagine he takes the bus every morning to a magazine/newspaper/cigarette shop where he works. His customers know him well and he knows them, calling them by name and asking them about their jobs and families. He supports local bands, promoting their concerts with flyers and playing their music in the shop. His name is Stu, but his friends and customers call him Slick, and I've been dying to photograph him.
On my way home from work, I always see this older woman in a champagne colored sedan. She's got a short white bob curled under just so and a slightly puffy face with jowels framing her burgundy-lipsticked mouth from which she smokes cigarettes. Before each drag, she purses and licks her lips as if she can't wait for the deliciousness to come. She's always wearing some bejeweled necklace and silky blouse, completing the picture of 50s glamour (though she's 10 or more years grown out of the part). I imagine her name is Carol Lynn, a newly-widowed woman with grown children. After her husband died, she took out a new lease on life--found a job working as a receptionist and socializes with an over-50s group that meets once a week for drinks and dinner at various downtown Denver restaurants. She wears Chanel 5 perfume and gets her nails done--usually with pink or red polish. She has drapes in her house and a floral-print couch. She only has one framed picture on her desk--a family portrait from 1957. She kisses her finger and presses it to her husband's face every night when she leaves work. Again, I'd love to photograph her.
The more I imagine strangers' stories, the more I "see" them. It's almost like recognition, connection, like we share a history together.
Do you make up stories for strangers?
I love the idea for this post because I find myself making out the lives of complete strangers every day. For me, it is the lives of two women, both in their early 40's, whom I walk past each morning during my break. They curl up next to one another in a concrete nook across from the RTD bus stop. Every morning, I walk down the stairs to see them on a concrete slab, mingling and smoking pot. I can smell the weed in the air as I loop around them and the giant water fountain that shields them from people waiting to ride downtown. I imagine they were both strangers to one another before they met in their pot-smoking crevice of the RTD park. One happened upon the other, started talking about weed, where she lived, what she liked to eat, where to buy more weed. I imagine they are happy and like music and open discussions of life. I smile every time I pass them on my walk. I step down the stairs by the RTD station, breathe in the scent of their conversation, listen to the sound of the fountain drone out their words and make my way back into my office building.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful image, Cam! I can see and smell them! What do you imagine are their names?
ReplyDeleteGreat descriptions. You make their lives sound so strangely romantic. I believe we all have a "history" even with people we don't know. If you see them every day, it seems they'd somehow effect your life in one way or another. Don't you think? Not to mention, I ADORE making up names for people I don't know... and things I own (like my car, etc.) What fun!
ReplyDeleteAfter giving it some thought, I imagine the woman in worn jeans, sunburned skin and a t-shirt I thought got lost in the '60's, her name to be Adele. Her clever friend, who eyeballs me out of sight as she smokes her spliff, bares the name Betty, but goes by "Bet," to her new companion. Somehow, without knowing them at all, they are already my new morning friends in disguise.
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