The waking hours

In the dream, we're on a scooter riding through downtown Concepcion. I ask her, "Why did you ask me back here?" There's no answer. There's no answer because she didn't.

The grocery store is in an upper middle class section of Northern Virginia. It's a specialty grocery store. Aside from all of the normal wares that can be found at any run of the mill grocery, this place has a wine store, a dining area, a buffet, and all of the accoutrements that the Northern Virginia soccer moms and power players desire. There is organic shampoo, foot stones, earth friendly dish soap, even over priced patio furniture.
The slow girl is in the dining area. She works there, she is some sort of busser. She is watching me eat. I've seen her before, I imagine she remembers me. She is of slight build, wears thick glasses, and is young. She is maybe nineteen years old. She has watched me eat before. It doesn't/didn't bother me until the day of the dream. Because on that day, I looked back at her. I didn't stare, I wasn't being malevolent, I just looked back. At times, since the day, I regret looking back. I saw behind those eyes for the first time and I saw something I can't unlearn. The slow girl certainly mentally disabled in some way, but it seems just not enough. She is socially awkward, of course, but the worst part is that she knows it. She is not slow enough to be oblivious to the fact that there is a side of life that she's missing. It is a hellish thought, but true enough. In that moment when I looked back at here, I knew that she was aware that there was a part of life she was missing. She is aware that there is a universe of experiences out there that are just out of reach. It was sad for a moment, but in that moment I could have lived the rest of my life without making the next realization. In the moment that followed I realized that we were the same, she and I.