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The joys of watching people

 

Bus stops are good places to watch people. I often stand, leaning against a wall, observing, not judging, but looking for clues to a story.

One day in a wealthy part of London, the road wide and peaceful, I watched an older woman come out of a nearby grand house. When I write that she was wearing a PVC cape, fish net stockings and heels, the outfit might give the wrong impression for a woman of her elder years. However, she had a perfectly pitched bun at the back of her head, subtle makeup and great poise. As she stopped to wait for a bus, a young man said to her, “You look very nice today, ma’am.”

She nodded to acknowledge his compliment and thanked him.

I felt awe. She had grace, style – her own style – and calm composure. I wanted what she had and wondered where she was going in PVC and fish nets. To visit a lover is too obvious. My preferred story is that she was visiting a husband or former lover who was in a nursing home. The style was too precise. I believe she was dressing up to please a man who had once so loved her in this outfit.

I often think about that woman and wonder where she is today. Hopefully, still using stylish swagger to impress mortals like me and still visiting that old lover.

We often don’t look at the people around us. We stare into our phones as though into the oracle of life. But the street interactions that take place around us can provide theatre.

I remember watching a glamourous couple walking through the Central Park in New York. The woman was so much younger than the man, and he had a little girl walking firmly at his side. The couple were deep in conversation. Perhaps, feeling overlooked, the little girl called out, “Daddy, Daddy, carry me, “

“Walk!” he told her sharply, “or you’ll get fat!” A future story in this piece of theatre involves a lot of therapy for that little girl.

I remember watching a group of three, two women and a man, having coffee in a café. Every time one of the women spoke, the other one rattled her spoon in her cup. I conjured up so many stories to explain that action – irritation is obvious. But I think they were both seeking the attention of the man with one of the women drowning out her rival’s voice.

And while watching people is fascinating, it is the people who watch us that truly draw my imagination. The single head and shoulders looking out from a window, especially an upstairs window, appears so utterly lonely.  Often, I stop and stare up at them, let them know that I acknowledge their existence. No one has ever moved away from their window when I’ve stopped to stare, but it has left me with a strange feeling – am I the watcher or the watched?



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