I’m practically on the jog down Cornmarket Street trying to squeeze in a quick dinner before a performance of Romeo & Juliet at Oxford Castle when I spotted Bicycle Girl.
She is walking out of her way, crossing the pavement to put change in the guitar case of a Cornmarket regular busker. He’s got a Spiderman knitted cap and a sign in front of his case that reads, “Thank you for helping the homeless.” His wry arms, adorned with cheap blurry black ink tattoos, stick like branches out of his cut off t-shirt. I don’t interview him because every time I see him he’s pouring himself into his music. Last time I passed he was wailing a spot-on version of Stand By Me. His acoustic guitar has in-lays that would make any rock god pine to have it; both for the art and street credit.
Bicycle girl is on the move too. She’s wearing an expensive blue button down coat, capris, and flats. You could put her outfit on any number of the mannequins posed in the posh storefronts. Her blonde hair is in a loose bun. I’m certain she doesn’t have the time of day. I match her pace and try my luck.
“Excuse me, could I ask you a question?”
“What?” She says without looking at me or slowing her speed. Her tone lets me know that she thinks I’m going to ask her to marry her. I smile outwardly to show good faith, and inwardly because anything is possible.
“I’ve been covering of homelessness in Oxford. I noticed you gave that gentleman playing music money, can I ask why?” She laughed, relieved to be spared my pavement proposal.
“I don’t know.” Her eye lids hang just a few degrees lower. Her stare stays straight ahead, but I can tell she isn’t looking at the view in front of her. I suspect she knows someone on the street.
“He’s out here doing something at least.” She looks at me to see if I understand. She is beautiful.
“Yeah, of course.”
“And I like music, so it doesn’t bother me to give him some change.”
“Okay, thank you for your time.” She nods.
And we continued on our parallel and infinitely separate ways.
Word Slurpee 