Sunshine
Rosie's fingers are also clasped round a receiver. She is listening to its sounds and nodding her head of shiny brown hair. Her ear and its small earring cannot, however, be seen, since it is pressed firmly to the receiver. The ear lobe is hidden under the thicket of hair. Now she laughs. Her head keeps on nodding, and the receiver rocks with it. How does a receiver feel when rocking at an altitude of 1.7 metres? Does it feel like a swing-boat at a fairground? But how does a swing-boat at a fairground feel?
This is not something we can ascertain immediately, since there is no swing-boat to be found anywhere in the vicinity. And even if there was one, how could we find out how it feels? Would we ask it is it was satisfied with its job? Does it enjoy rocking all the time? Doesn't it sometimes feel sick? Isn't it bored? Doesn't it want a break?
She laughed again. When she leans forward slightly, her face enters the zone where rays of light are falling from the window. She keeps nodding her head, and the sun searchlight sweeps her face. Under its influence her lashes look fairer than they really are. But are they actually different at other times? We can't remember. Now they are pale, and reflect the radiance, like her eyes. Her complexion is so white! But no longer. She has leant back into the shade and her skin has immediately remembered its original colour. After a moment, however, she returns to her original position and the patch of sun resumes its reign.
"I met my old biology teacher the other day for instance," Rosie announces into the receiver, "but I didn't let on that we already knew each other. I didn't want to talk about the past. The past is gone. I don't really know him anyway, since back then he was someone different. And in any case he didn't remember me."
She glances out of the window.
The sun is shining with more self-confidence today. A small line of clouds is peeping over the horizon.
Apparently the first signs of spring are in the air.
