Undying Hat

Really, it was the Busby that did it.
You know the white furry hat, the one that belongs to the mean winters of Dr Zhivago and not the murky thing that passes for winter in Smokey, that one. That's what stopped me. I was on my way home after a fairly successful stop at Sparks, just about to cross the road to get to my bus stop and there she was.
First, it was the white Busby that caught my eye. Then the rest of her, much of her that there was.
Anyway, there she was, poised…, I mean posed on the steps of the Look store on Oxford Street, taking, well you guessed it, a selfie.
I'm not mean, I’m not trying to be mean. But it wasn't hard to imagine what could happen next. I could already see it down to the chalk outline. It wasn't that I wanted her to fall, but really, the way she was posed, one foot on one step and the other, waiting. It was like an invitation, a random thought. I didn’t even get to think it. It just wafted out and did its thing.   
Try!!! Uh no, slide down. I could see the white clad legs sprawling. Did I miss that bit out? Yes, she was dressed in all white, white Busby, white furry gilet and white jeans with white kid boots. Yes, I know it's Smokey and this isn't a new thing, but it was for me. I mean I don't see that every day and yes, I do live in this city, even if I'm not allowed out, much.
But the chalk outline? I'm telling you it wasn't hard to imagine. It’s why I really need to stop watching police procedurals. I mean, you've seen it, the glamour girl in the first scene and then the next scene, the police tape. It's what she reminded me of, a kind of jaded facsimile of the glamour girl, the pretty extra or wannabe starlet, just about to be murdered in the next scene. She had the clothes, she even had the lips…
If I say anything more about her face, it will be meaner, so let's skip that. Clamber over those pursed up lips and just say she had the look of the first scene and so the chalk bit wasn't hard to imagine.

So, there she is, sprawled down, maybe her head lower down on the bottommost step and her white jean clad legs artistically set out in model angles on the steps. Next, the crowd gather round. Of course they do. It's Oxford Street. that's what the crowd does when it's not gawping, annoyingly ambling like zombies at the mall or bustling by because, you know, shopping. They gather and they take pictures. Cue mobile phones all around. Then in the near distance, two paramedics are huffing with their gear to get on to the scene. Okay, so that's more television, real life would be two ambulance ladies bullying their way via van to get on the scene.
Now that's not improbable and just to prove it, I can work from memory and see two ladies in green jumpsuits and threaded eyebrows walking through the crowd with that air of 'this better be real and not just some whinging chick'.
Believe me when I say that memory costs me more than my shop at Sparks did. I had to put some real thought into that memory, just to make it real. So, my threaded eyebrow ladies push their way through the crowd. It's December, the horror of pre-Christmas shopping is in full swing. There are lots of people to get through. There are also people who are not willing to give up their place on the scene. Finally, my green jumpsuit ladies reach the body, but guess what, one white sleeved arms flails and flops.
She's alive!
The crowd huffs in amazement and possibly disappointment. More of the crowd keep their phones up. There’s hope yet. Take more pics, take more vids. My white Busby lady lifts up a frail hand, looks surprised to see herself on the floor. She does however note the crowd around her and does the natural thing. She angles her still connected head and takes a selfie. All this happened in the twinkle of my ruined imagination and then I got on the bus wondering why it’s called a Busby. Also, that maybe Ma was right about not letting my imagination get the better of me when I'm released.

Photo by Karina Karina on Unsplash