thoughts of Selma

Petit and out of place, she stands at the metal extruding machine and waits for her shift to end. Waits for her boy to become 14. Waits for her eyesight to leave her.

Then the noises speak to her. The clattering of the conveyor belt, the hiss of the steam compress, the monotone hum of the transformer box – they converge in a symphony of ambient music.

"This is a musical," she reminds herself. Through her Coke bottle glasses, she squints at the world around her. Dampened globs of color, warped into movements and stillness, are all that she can make out.

Despite it all, she smiles. The indistinct forms dance in front of her as she imagines them engaged in an elaborate choreography. The shapes wrap around for a Broadway-style lineup. A show-stopper. The elfin girl giggles.

These are the memories I have as I shop for a movie on DVD. Time to make a purchase.