#54 Blue Girl

I’m sitting on the Uptown 6 train and a woman gets on. Her hair is blue, not ordinary blue but cerulean blue which reminds me of fuchsia henna, except it isn’t henna. It is truly blue. She is young, probably in her mid-20’s and her face is angelic. She is an angel with blue hair. Her skin has a bluish hue and I search for traces of blue henna staining her hairline, near her brow. There is no stain. She is perfect and her skin is flawless. I notice her hand holding the bar next to me. I don’t see any veins or signs of age. Is she human? I wonder. Her hair is long and thick and she is looking at her friend who pales in every way by contrast to the Blue Angel. They are speaking a combination of Spanish and English: Spanglish. I don’t really want to listen to her voice because it detracts from her bluish being.  How can I describe her angelic face: Helena Bonham Carter circa Room With A View. You remember. You cannot take your eyes off her giant eyes, elfin nose and cherubic, pillow lips.

(About 10 years ago, Helena got out of a cab at Prince and Broadway. No one recognized her as she stood there with a tiny map in hand. She was lost. I approached her.

Helena: “Can you tell me where Anthropooologie is?”

Me: “That is on West Broadway. This is Broadway. Walk that way (pointing west) and make a left on West Broadway. Walk past Spring Street and you will see it.”

Helena:”Thank you!”

I don’t say anything because I am playing it cool and pretend I don’t know who she is. She has entered her Tim Burton phase and her hair is piled on her delicate head with many sparkly clips and she is wearing her ragamuffin skirt from the Charlie And The Chocolate Factory film wardrobe. She is clearly in deep.

She will stock up on more of her bohemian stuff at Anthropooologie, no doubt.)

The Blue Angel is talking to her friend.

“Can you believe they treat the kid that way?”

“Oh my god, no!”

(Spanish, Spanish)

“And at a day care center!”

“That is so wrong!”

More Spanish.

I look at her legs. They are stocky, not what I expect, but I’m glad.

I don’t want her to catch me staring.

I look at her fingers. Blue and perfect.

It’s Grand Central and she and her friend depart.

I know I will never see that hair again.