Urban Campers

I went to a church for rehearsal tonight, but it took me a little while to find the entrance. The first side I approached had some door-like structures, but none with hinges or handles. As I continued to investigate, I saw a disheveled sleeping bag along the side of the wall. There was a woman curled up in there. She was dozing contentedly on her side with her hands balled under her chin and one leg stuck out for air. Three other people were just around the corner, with their backs against the wall of the church, smoking under the spotlight and laughing. They had piles of soiled blankets and holey duffel bags. They looked inquisitively at me when I passed, probably wondering why I had strayed from the sidewalk in the first place. I diverted my eyes and quickened my step to get into the church. When I came out after rehearsal, the whole group had retired. Two people were peacefully spooning on top of their sleeping bag. It was a perfect night to sleep in the open air.

You Missed A Spot

***WARNING: Topics covered in this post may include canine fecal matter.***

I just saw a man picking up his dog’s poop on the sidewalk. The dog was one of those tall and narrow breeds, like a greyhound with long hair. His face came to a straight point, with beady eyes on either side of the ledge. The man knelt down behind him with a mini plastic bag around his hand. He muttered to the dog as he worked, grabbing each piece as it landed on the cement. Just as he wrapped up the bag, another tiny turd dropped behind him. He hadn’t seen it. It was right in the middle of the sidewalk when they walked away. I wanted to point it out to him, but how could I critique the work of a person humbling himself behind his dog? And what would I have said?

I Can Imagine

I got slowed down tonight as I fell in behind a family of five on my walk home. The mother was explaining the phenomenon of dry ice to her youngest son. The father was directly ahead with the older boys, and all of them wore big sweatshirts. After we'd passed a few houses, I noticed that the little boy started winding his steps to the left. I thought he was scared of me or something, but then I saw him drag his mom over and motion to his brothers. They were making room for me to pass. I was so tired that I had hardly noticed the change in pace, but I decided I'd better gun it ahead after their collective gesture.

"Young and fit!" the father said to me as I passed.
"Just anxious to be home, is all," I said, turning back a little.
"I can imagine," he said with a big, charming grin. I smiled back.

I headed home at my new quick pace, figuring I might as well finish what I started. But the whole way home, I found myself trying to interpret the father's remark. Did he know that I had just finished work, that I had stayed later than usual? Did he know that I wasn't dressed warm enough for the weather? Maybe he was ready for bed too and commiserating. Do people say they "can imagine" now when they're commiserating? Or is it a catch phrase that he's known for saying all the time, even inappropriately? Like, "It's hot, huh?" - "I can imagine."

It really could have meant anything.

I got a clearer message from his face, which I'm pretty sure went something like this: "Hey neighbor, life is good. Enjoy the night."

Empty Cup

A few days ago I witnessed a girl drop her wallet on the sidewalk. Luckily, a panhandler stopped her, saying, "Miss! Miss, you dropped your wallet."
"Oh! Thank you!" she said, looking grateful and flustered as she picked it up.
The man flipped his Au Bon Pain cup to her expectantly.
"Sorry," was all she said as she turned away.
"Oh come on, miss - I was gonna take it anyway!"
An onlooker confirmed this, shouting, "I saw him, he was gonna take it anyway!"
But she never looked back.

Fighting for Survival

Missed Connections and Made Ones

Sometimes there are street musicians who seem to be on another level than the others. There was a man like that in the train station last week, singing with his guitar. Most of the time he just sounded like a really good folk singer, but every once in a while he let out an other-worldly hum in his high range, and I couldn't even believe it was coming from him. It was the sweetest sound I'd ever heard from a man's voice. I stood right near him and clapped when he finished his song. After he thanked me, a man appeared from the other side of the barrier with a hand outstretched. The singer shook it and proceeded to strike up a conversation. They chatted while the station filled with people. I thought it was a shame that he was missing the chance to perform for this huge crowd of people; they would be gone in a moment and never have heard him sing. By the time he picked up his guitar again, the train was approaching, and its noise drowned him out. I watched him on mute from the window of the train, and I saw the last people step off the platform, but the man who shook the singer's hand hadn't come onto the train. He had stayed back to hear the rest of the song. And I suppose he would listen better than a crowd of people anyway.

Discuss, Discuss!

Yesterday there was a row of seven people reading the Metro right next to each other. Many of them had similar cloudy beverages from Dunkin Donuts in their hands, too.

I thought they were a book club waiting to happen.

City Kids, Vol. 2

My boyfriend witnessed a little boy drinking from a water fountain and then being scolded by his mother the other day.

"No no no, we don't drink from those!" she said. "They're dirty!"

Avatar

I have recently become very interested in assistance pets, especially seeing eye dogs, because their owners have presumably never seen them. I don't know how people are set up with these dogs, but I wonder if they've chosen the dogs or if the dogs have chosen them, like wands at Ollivander's. I wonder if they realize how much their dogs represent them in the world, and I can't help but notice that each dog seems to match its owner in some way. Today I saw an old man in a button-up striped shirt with high-waisted shorts and boots. His dog was a muttish German Shephard with a lovely fatigue about him. When the man sat, the dog sauntered over to him and folded himself up for a rest. They were tired old friends and they belonged together.

She's Got That Glow

People always say pregnant women have a "glow." When I read that or hear it in movies, I always picture one of those Jesus icons with a bright yellow halo around his hair. I had never witnessed this phenomenon personally until today in Park Street station. A gorgeous woman around 30 years old passed me in a tight-fitted T-shirt that showed off her big pregnant belly. She wore a contented smile like nothing I'd ever seen, and you could see that all her thoughts pointed to that belly. She wasn't holding it or even looking at it, but the power of that connection filled the station with sweet resplendence.

Then I spent the whole ride home thinking of names for babies.

Blue Gatorade

Yesterday I saw a little girl drinking a blue Gatorade, and her mouth was all blue. She was drinking it so fast that she gasped after each sip.

Her dad looked down at her as they entered the train, saying, "I can't believe you like that stuff. DIS-gus-ting. I'm a bad father for buying it for you. Now this," he reached down into his plastic bag, "This is yummy goodness." He pulled out a Naked juice.
"What is it?" asked the blue-cheeked kid.
"Carrot juice," he replied.
"Yuck!"

Later I heard more snippets of their chat.

"Why don't you write your next story about a handsome dad who is also a king?" asked the man.
" 'Cause," she explained, "I don't wanna write about that. And I already know what I wanna write about."
"And what's that?"
"John and Luke and those ones."
"Why do you wanna write about them?"
" ' Cause they're the only ones who like Gatorade."

With that, she delightedly slurped down the rest of her drink. I wish I could read her stories.