SMALL CANTONESE FEMALE

Got on the bus at Polk Street. By Hyde Street, having gotten bored of reading the minds of everyone further back, I looked toward the front. And then I noticed her.
Not many people can fit into a bus seat.
Sideways.

She was sleeping curled up on the seat, with her granddad's arm protectively reaching over to keep her from slipping off. It was because there were two backpacks on the seat on the other side of him that I first noticed either of them, really. Elderly gentlemen with colourful backpacks of the Hello Kitty variety are not that common, and usually that theme means a little girl somewhere. Granddads frequently head down to Chinatown in connection with their grandchildren; either to pick them up from school or drop them off.

A delicately sculpted face. Gentle and perfect. Napping forest creature.
Elegant little nose, elfin cheeks, rosebud lips. The eyelashes featherlike, eyebrows like tiny little caterpillars. So sweet and adorable as she slept.
It's that fineness of detail.
Beautiful.

She looked peaceful with her head on his thigh, using it as a pillow.
He looked abstracted.

She's probably all energy when she's awake. A Do Do Cheng or Anita Mui in the making. Little Cantonese girls always become big Cantonese girls. They grow up.
At which point they can be quite fierce.

For another six blocks I observed her out of the corner of my eye. She did not move that entire time. Fast asleep, probably exhausted from a prolonged riot. Or something equally energy-draining.
She's probably a very nice little girl.
Stubborn and intelligent.

He grandfather loves her.




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