chapter 4
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Hollandaise Sauce
Leda watched a woman in the subway seat across from her with a grocery bag. The woman was older and held a container of hollandaise sauce on her lap. She moved her hands over the lid, opening and closing it as she chewed indiscriminately. The smell of the hollandaise sauce filled the subway car, and Leda turned away a bit to avoid the stale odor of food on public transportation. The woman’s clothes were dirty and the grocery bag looked as if it had been used many times to carry many things. Her face was gray and her eyelids were sunken. Leda noticed a small brooch attached to a faded ribbon in her hair. It didn’t make the woman’s appearance any better, any less gray, any less unkempt, but it was there. I guess you always have to do something with your hair, she thought, and touched her own hair, silky and young. Somewhere, she imagined, this woman had done many things. Soft things and hard things and was beautiful with a brooch. There was a countertop she held onto and a man who stood beside her telling her fancy possibilities that made her laugh lightly and feel probable. The woman got off at the next stop. Her coat brushed Leda as she pushed past and the smell of hollandaise lingered behind. For the rest of the ride Leda spent her time folded into herself. She listened to music and watched the people moving then still. Somewhere in her knowledge of cosmopolitan life she was aware that attempting to meet the gazes of strangers was dangerous. Her mom said, “You are moving to the city now. You will no longer be able to look at anyone.” Leda looked at anyone. She would look at men and
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– The Girl Who Never Read Noam Chomsky: A Novel by Jana Casale –