It Had to be Something

I was walking aimlessly last evening.

Across the street, a man stopped in front of a store window.

Nothing unusual.

He just stood there, looking in.

Another person slowed down.

Craned his neck.

Stopped.

Two.

A young couple walked by, holding hands.

They followed the line of sight.

She turns.

The head first.

The body catches up.

The skirt flares open,

a sudden circle of fabric.

Five.

Six.

No one spoke.

They just looked inside.

A crowd.

Heads started bobbing and weaving.

Left. Right. Up.

Chins lifting, necks stretching, bodies tilting, each one chasing a better angle.

She rises on her toes, a hand finding the shoulder in front of her.

The motion spread down the line.

A quiet ripple.

Everyone adjusting.

Those in the back saw no more than the heads in front.

I had enough.

I crossed the street.

Stepped in behind them.

Tried to see past shoulders.

Through reflections.

Inside.

Nothing obvious.

Shelves. Light. A screen somewhere in the back.

It must be something.

People don’t stop for nothing.

Not like this.

I looked harder.

Longer.

Then the man at the front checked his watch.

Sighed.

Walked away.

The others hesitated.

One by one, they drifted off.

I was left there, alone.

I could finally see it.

A television on a shelf.

Muted.

A National Geographic documentary.

Lemmings.

A line of them running.

Following each other.

Off a cliff.

The TV went off.

The lights went off.

In the dark,

the glass became a mirror.

There was only me.

Not much to look at.