Clever Magazine, Fall '06 "The Public Eye " (www.clevermag.com)

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The Public Eye

by Yvonne Chism-Peace

Chlorina wished she hadn’t seen it happen. Until that moment her day had been beautiful. Mr. Rogers perfect. Nobody spat on the sidewalk. Nobody yawned without covering his or her orthodontics-in-progress. Nobody threw so much as Fritter Fratter into the gutter when the trash receptacle was more than an inch away.

Chlorina knew these things were happening all over the city. All over the country, in fact. But she hadn’t seen any of it today. She felt so happy, she decided to sing.

"Oh, it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood." Etc., etc., etc.

But when Chlorina saw it happen, she was thrown into a dither—which is a cross between "Come hither" and "Don’t bother."

When Chlorina saw it happen, she couldn’t decide— like "catch the thief" or "pick up the pocketbook."

When Chlorina saw it happen, she remembered that she’d forgotten her handy Pocket of Predicaments. Isn’t alcohol the universal stain remover? Or is it white corn meal?

What happened was this.

Chlorina was treating herself to high tea high up under the beautiful blue dome in Liberty One skyscraper. It was a bright late summer day, and the sunlight through the blue prisms of glass was warm and gentle. Like an old harmless cliche. Chlorina was pampering herself with a raspberry and chocolate chip scone (queen size) and a generous cup of Mandarin Imperial Orange tea.

Chlorina was poised to take her last bite and her last sip when she saw it happen. A twenty-something female in a skimpy navy blue suit got up from the table next to Chlorina. Doing so, she knocked over her unfinished caramello latte which went spilling from the balcony onto a dapper white-suited gentleman below.

Skimpy Suit looked down, then jerked back, two beats before the Mark Twain clone sniffed his sleeve and looked up. Then she scurried for the nearest exit— Britannia’s Secret. He just stood there, his arm half-raised as if in a cast.

Tea and sympathy gone sour, Chlorina tossed the remains in the trash, wiped her fingers with an antibacterial towelette, and dabbed her lips with an age-appropriate gloss. Head held high, she glided down the glossier escalator. Determined to remain on high ground.