On the train yesterday a young girl, maybe 12, stood at the front and held tight to the silver pole with her left hand. On her right arm she wore a cast colored with red and blue magic marker to look like the American flag. She focused on keeping her balance. A few feet away from her, everyone else in the car was seated. Watching her. Reading. Sleeping. Staring out the window.
Her two younger brothers sitting in the front row seats were dressed alike in plaid shorts and striped shirts. Off to the zoo. The younger one flirted with me while sitting on his father's lap. Looked at me seductively. Dismissed their parental comments. He must've been 3 or so. Funny.
There is something about the train that is like the river. It delivers. It is generated from a source. It can rescue but will not hesitate to annhilate. Its final destination may be indifferent to the individual. It brings out the best, and worst, in people.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
Today, on the train, a young kid offered me his seat. He was wearing a Redskins jersey and khaki shorts with his hair cut short. "Normal". I'd been careening my head around to see if there was an open seat and had found none. Then he sprung off the gold vinyl bench and told me I could sit down because he felt like standing. He must've been 16 or 17. Eighteen at the most.
I sat down and immediately started crying. Chivalry is not dead, even in the young.
A couple of minutes later I listened while two teenage girls (one of them wearing a flowing blue dress with black palm trees on it) studied for a vocabulary quiz. They were discussing the difference between "empathy" and "apathy".
I sat down and immediately started crying. Chivalry is not dead, even in the young.
A couple of minutes later I listened while two teenage girls (one of them wearing a flowing blue dress with black palm trees on it) studied for a vocabulary quiz. They were discussing the difference between "empathy" and "apathy".
It was only recently I realized that copperhead snakes swim in the Nolichucky River in East Tennessee, my home.
Even though I grew up not far from its winding, omnipotent current, I didn't want to admit that, like me, copperheads need to cool off now and then.
After years of basking in the sun and swimming in the river, I finally saw a copperhead last summer. It was coiled on the sandy beach like a useless, rusty hose suddenly sprung to life; its small head greeting the air, kissing it. My friend Debby asked me to hold onto her dog, Sammy. "It's a copperhead," she said.
I don't remember what happened next except that, now, I live in Washington, DC.
Even though I grew up not far from its winding, omnipotent current, I didn't want to admit that, like me, copperheads need to cool off now and then.
After years of basking in the sun and swimming in the river, I finally saw a copperhead last summer. It was coiled on the sandy beach like a useless, rusty hose suddenly sprung to life; its small head greeting the air, kissing it. My friend Debby asked me to hold onto her dog, Sammy. "It's a copperhead," she said.
I don't remember what happened next except that, now, I live in Washington, DC.
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