Read Online Seen Reading by Julie Wilson - Free Book Online

to the net, the game-losing spike blocked: the final blow. Yet, the birth of a handsome nose.
    READER
    Asian female, early 30s, with broad shoulders, wavy hair bunched up high, wearing black v -neck cotton shirt.

    Dusk Dances 2007
    Withrow Park, Toronto
    p 97

Pink
    There are syrupy bumps on the back of her pink bathroom door buried under multiple coats of paint. They’ve been there since she moved in; who knows how long before that. The bumps remind her of her grandmother, the hinges on her pink bathroom door painted so many times it barely shut. She leans forward on the toilet and delicately traces the bumps with her finger. Just two pink bathroom doors in a long line of pink bathroom doors.
    READER
    Caucasian female, early 20s, wearing low-slung white jeans, white puffy jacket, French tips, and ugg s.

    The Tipping Point
    Malcolm Gladwell
    (Little, Brown and Company, 2000)
    p 82

Hero
    He comes in the same time each day, reads in the back corner for hours until he pulls out a journal into which he doodles madly. She refills his coffee, piling fresh creamers beside his pens and watercolours. Occasionally he stands, walking up and down the aisle between the mostly empty booths, on the balls of his feet, hands shoved into the high pockets of his khaki floods. Bottom lip stuck out, he doesn’t sit until he’s reached some conclusion, a thought he punctuates with a salute and a click of his heels to no one in particular. His short curls are matted down from sleep, he doesn’t always smell very nice, and his teeth protrude a little, but she’s certain that in his story, he’s the hero and gets all the girls.
    READER
    East Indian female, early 30s, with long black hair, wearing purple velvet coat, long black skirt, and thick-soled boots.

    Brown Girl in the Ring
    Nalo Hopkinson
    (Grand Central Publishing, 2007)
    p 174

Holding
    He was sitting on the couch holding the phone to his ear when his wife strode in with the groceries. He nodded once and continued to flip through a magazine. Minutes later, he held the receiver away from his ear, the cursing on the other end of the line heard well into the kitchen where his wife stood over a steeping tea bag, hands planted firmly on the counter. “How long have you been on this time?” she murmured so quietly it was as if to herself. “An hour. Mum’s just forgotten where she is again,” he replied, and then, assuringly, “but she’ll get back,” as if to himself. “What, darling?” his wife said from the kitchen.
    READER
    South Asian male, with short brown hair and labret piercing, wearing glasses, grey hoodie under black fleece, low black jeans, and black Converse sneakers.

    Atmospheric Disturbances
    Rivka Galchen
    (HarperCollins, 2008)
    p 63

Twisty Ties
    The woman beside her wants to talk. She wonders aloud, are these cars air conditioned? Should she have brought a jacket?
    This woman hugs a small suitcase to her knees, a white leather purse with ball point scribbles along one seam stuffed in her lap. Her son sits across from her, his suitcase closing him in. He rests his head on top of it, one earphone in, the other dangling, emitting the steady beats of hip hop.
    â€œYou forgot to put the twisty ties on the zippers,” the woman calls to her son.
    He lifts his head, shrugs.
    â€œI didn’t buy you no new shorts and t -shirts to have somebody steal ‘em.”
    â€œMa,” the boy mumbles. “Twisty ties ain’t gonna keep no-body out of this luggage if they want to get into this luggage.”
    â€œEvery bit helps,” she says, looking at her neighbour again.“You have kids,” the woman says, not so much a question as a statement. “They don’t know until they got to pay for it themselves.”
    â€œMaybe,” she responds, turning the page of her book.
    â€œMa,” the boy grumbles.
    â€œMaybe. Maybe not. But, one day, somebody’s gonna take something from