before it started getting warm i was at jamaica station. i rode the elevator up to the mezzanine, that elevator has the softest buttons. visit it sometime and you'll understand what i mean. it's like they want to be pushed.
once i got up i activated the heat lamps over the benches and i sat in between an older gentleman and a middle aged woman. he was texting ferociously as i tried to look over his shoulder. the heat was astounding and i felt myself caught up in it. it was going straight to his head too, he started typing with more purpose, but less dignity. i looked on, figuring he was trying to woo his latest internet fling. trying so hard to get to those next steps. she was still and it looked like something might be bothering her, or everything.
in front of me was a woman with her toddler. i looked onward at them, and for once i thought i wouldn't have minded being either the mother or her young. they seemed to notice the subtle features in each other. she was petting his head and he was clutching her legs, absorbed in her. then he was peaking through her legs watching the world unfold around him at his particular place on the planet.
the heat lamps turned off. i got up a pushed the button once again. they had barely gotten back to they gray tone they maintain while off. the middle aged woman seemed to get some relief from the heat being back on. and she looked up at me and i thought i saw some gratitude in her face.
i thought the lamps could start a fire, unless they already had.
i was drinking a beer at 1045am. if you're seen drinking before noon you get a look, apparently if it's before 11am you get a sneer. just a couple feet away gawking like i was some sort of second class citizen, an untouchable, was this woman. middle aged, and judging me. and what i have nothing to offer because i'm a merry, jobless, alcoholic? she doesn't know me - she can "suck it". and normally i wouldn't judge but i felt entitlement after the looks she gave me. and thing is she was wearing a vest. and there is only one thing worse than a vest: a vest with a hood. i decide i hate this woman and believe she's bitter.
just another drag-you-down middle aged bitch. i pity the fool.
and the next day i'm in the park, cause its 50 degrees and i have an hour to kill before class. i'm drinking a beer and this little boy is riding his scooter back and fourth as his nanny eats lunch. i smile at him because he's young, and cute, and seemingly fearless. after we exchange some friendly smiles, an understanding, he comes swiftly towards me down the blacktop, and attempts a bunny hop. he fails, falls off the scooter, hits the ground and looks up at me shamefully. i smile back proudly. he had been trying to impress me.
yet again the next week i'm at Duane Reade picking up a 24oz bud-light and the black lady behind me in line says "bud-liiiiiiiight" (emphasis on light), this is by far the classiest person that has spoken to me in weeks. i'm flattered. i look bashfully back and reply that it has 1/3 the calories. she says something about taste and my age and we laugh. she educates me and i listen.
i long to tell her what a bitch the lady in the vest was to me - that they shared nothing in common.
i stopped and asked a standing body in the snow to please take my picture. i told him i was from down south, that i've never seen the snow. it was lustful, and a lie. in my defense it was a white lie, the kind that made him feel like there was a purpose to the picture taking. specifically more than the mere fact that i wanted to talk to him. i wanted that picture too. i told him my family would go berserk over the sight of me manning the snow, cause back at home i wouldn't leave the house if there was anything over a 14% chance of precipitation. i thought the picture could capture the havoc in the air while remaining still. i laughed and said all this wet snow made me feel like i was part of a window display at a department store. a lifeless abomination. but really, i was happy like a bucket full of cumulonimbus clouds, ready to burst. and i figured since eventually it will happen i'd like to have a picture of the wave right before it crashes, or something like that.
i took two steps back from him, said cheese through my grin, and he snapped the picture. he glanced down and said "perfect".
i thanked him and offered him a stick of gum, he accepted, hailed a cab, and was off.
i was laying down last night about to say my prayers - i start by doing the imaginary cross. the trinity. the father. the son. the holy spirit. my greatest religious influence happens to be Sammy Sosa, but i've always believed in the power of prayer so i continue on with the tradition. it removes me from the issues, and allows me a chance at hope.
last night though it occurred to me: might it be gravely disrespectful to lay down as a pray? and come to think of it anytime i've ever seen someone pray they're kneeling. at the edge of the bed - kneeling. in a church pew - kneeling. my stupidity rears its ugly head once again. and not before i briefly consider the fact of that matter is that i don't ask for much. usually just to ease the pain of my family/friends (i'm always real sure to make sure i use the word ease) and to dream of things that are gone. on the other hand though i've been answered at times. must be doing something right. maybe the idea of kneeling to me seems overly religious, passing my threshold as a religious being. i don't know. frankly the idea of someone walking in n me kneeling, praying frightens me. i'm almost embarrassed to say i'd be embarrassed.
now, that's embarrassing.
maybe it's okay not to kneel if you have hardwood floors, and weak knees. i mean i'm at least willing to give it a try. i think i'd find it more appropriate. maybe i should be more concerned with my corrupt thoughts (that was a joke) or lack of confirmation (that wasn't).