Strangers Stories
Weird interactions, mistaken identities, and awkward moments with people you’ll (hopefully) never see again.
Strangers
My grandmother's funeral brought with it this stranger sitting across from me at the reception, his eyes fixed intensely on the plate of cold chicken nuggets in front of him. Every now and then he'd take a small, tentative bite before returning his gaze to me.
Strangers
My neighbor's dog thinks I'm its owner; it wags at me every time I step outside, but the owner remains oblivious to this fact. I've tried calling it by its actual name, but the response is always: 'not me' followed by the neighbor's dismissive wave.
Strangers
As my gaze wanders out the window, I spot him. Again.
Strangers
Somehow, I'd become accustomed to her absence, the nagging feeling that I'd misplaced something precious whenever she wasn't in the checkout lines of the convenience store down the street. But then there were those eyes, two bright dots watching me, waiting for me to finally recognize her.
:)
Strangers
My shoelaces keep getting tangled in the bus seat's crevice, an embarrassing ritual that I've come to dread. In a world that values spontaneity, I'm stuck fumbling for order in the knots of my worn out laces.
Strangers
I stared at the blank space beside my grandmother as she scribbled on her bingo card during what felt like the hundredth consecutive game we endured at the VFW. Her pencil hovered like a hummingbird as she pondered her next move, eyes fixed intently on a squiggle of numbers that held all her hopes for a hot tub by the pool.
Strangers
The worn linoleum beneath my feet seemed to shimmer in the fluorescent glare as I spilled coffee all over the stranger's sketchbook. Our eyes met in that fleeting moment of embarrassment, and she smiled, this fleeting, almost imperceptible crease on one side of her mouth.
Strangers
My grandma's antique typewriter is in my laundry basket, which I'm using as an impromptu planter in the corner of my room. It's been two weeks since my aunt spilled an entire tray of Chinese takeout in front of her – my family's awkward milestones are accumulating like dust under my bed.
Strangers
I spent most of Friday afternoon lost in a minor-key loop of elevator music, only to stumble upon a handwritten sign that read 'Stranger of the Universe' taped to a coffee machine, which belonged to – or so she claimed – an artist who wore iridescent contact lenses.
Strangers
My hair sticks to my sweaty palms as I attempt a conversation with the guy sitting across from me on the crowded bus. He must think I'm a complete moron for staring at his train pass for so long.