First Impressions

A guy across from me was sketching people on the train. He may have thought he was undercover, but his motives were obvious. I wondered how the portraits looked as I watched his eyes shift between my neighbors and the squiggly strokes of his pencil. I checked in periodically to see who he was drawing, but the angle of his Moleskine kept the pages out of sight. To be honest, I wanted to see myself in there - a stranger's projection of me. But in my curiosity, I couldn't be still, and quickdraw doesn't work well on a moving target.

She Got Game

My sister, Mom, and I got in the habit of walking to and from dinner while we were in Florida. One night we walked by a boy playing basketball in the street. He was still shooting around when we passed again four hours later. Emily and Mom were both on their cell phones as we approached him, so no one seemed to mind that I ran ahead to play ball.

He was elated to finally have an opponent, even if it was a person in a dress. He pulled all his left-right-fakey moves, but I am very serious about boxing out, and I put up a good fight. My family hovered at the end of the street while we chased each other around, neither of us making any shots. We chatted while we played.

"Do your siblings like basketball?" I asked.
"I don't know, kinda. My brother's at a party tonight," he answered.
"Okay. Well I'm pretty sure basketball is more fun than that."
"Yeah probably," he said as I scored my second point. It was 2-2 in a game to 3. "Are you sure you're not, like, a secret basketball wizard?" He may or may not have said that part. I can't be totally sure.

"So do you like living on the beach?" I asked, studying the large beach house behind us.
"Eh, it's a rental. My dad's back in Miami, but my mom moved us here after the divorce," he said.
"Not a bad place to be," I replied as he scored the winning point.
"Nah, not bad. So how long you guys in town?"
"Just until Monday morning," I said.
"Well, maybe I'll see you back out here," he suggested.
"Yeah, maybe," I replied, falling back into step with my family.

Love Dollar

This week at work, a girl handed me a one dollar bill with writing all over it and then went into class. Around the border, the dollar says:

"You are always in my heart! My little puppy. I love you so much! Love, little McVeggie! I'll miss you! I'll think about you this weekend!"

On the back:

"Love makes the world go round. Love sweet love! Love is all we need!"

Some parts of the dollar were also altered, so that it read, "IN (LOVE) WE TRUST" and (You're my #)1.

I thought about Where's George dollars and how money moves all over, all the time. On her way out of class, I asked the girl where she'd gotten the dollar.

"The truth?" she asked.
"Sure," I answered.
"I went through old shoe boxes today. It was leftover from an old relationship, and I was like, 'Well, it's' a dollar,' so I brought it here..."
"... to let go - to pass it on," I offered.
"Exactly," she said.

I haven't spent it yet, but look for Puppy and McVeggie coming soon to a cash register near you.

Paparazzi

A violin player was in Park Street Station playing some fast and flawless Bach. The people watching him had formed a horseshoe. One man caught my eye in his dirty old clothes because he was taping the performance on a golden iPhone. I don't know where the man came from, but his appearance suggested a life on the street, and the contrast to his shiny cellular was comical. He started on one end of the horseshoe and panned his camera all the way around the circle, stepping carefully so as not to disturb the shot. When he'd passed in front of the whole crowd, he tapped the screen to exit video and stepped onto a train in one fluid motion. The train carried him right away, as if on cue.

The Onion Man

Later at breakfast, a man passed us carrying a crate of onions. As he walked, he spoke to the patio at Country Ham n' Eggs. "I used to rob houses, now I rob onions. I'm the onion man. Good morning, ladies."
"Good morning," we replied.

Country Ham & Eggs

During our Florida trip, little sister, ma, and I woke up early one morning. We decided to beat the rush for Sunday breakfast and sat ourselves on the patio of a restaurant at the pier. Our server came right to the table.

"Coffee today?" The magic words.
"You're good," I replied.
"Well hon, I been doing this thirty years now. I know what you want when you walk in at 6am."

She brought us three ceramic mugs, and we all reached into the little dish of creamers. Em and my Mom take their coffee with cream; I like to stack and unstack the little buckets. Two old men power-walked right up to the gate in their jogging shorts and sweatbands. They sat.

"Coffee gentlemen?" Like a pro.
"Decaf," they replied simultaneously, still panting a little.
"You ladies ready to order?" she asked from their table. I needed a minute. I looked at my mom. Mom needed a minute. "That's fine, take your time," she said knowingly, disappearing into the restaurant.

When she came back, she took the old men's order.
"We'll take the ladies," they said, pointing at our table. Everyone laughed. They ordered eggs whites and whole wheat toast, dry. The waitress came back to us.
"Well ladies," she said. "What'll it be?"

I watched the lines on her face as we ordered. What kind of toast? How did we want our eggs? Thirty years - which thirty years? Age 20-50? 16-46?

In the few minutes we spent waiting for our food, our friends across the patio finished their egg whites, dropped cash, and resumed their walk. A couple replaced them just as fast.

"Coffee today?" 

Anonymous

Later in the journey with Joelle, a man approached us on the Silver Line bus. He was very unsteady as he sat next to us, singing, with his belly cascading out from under his wife beater.

"Like these shoes?" he asked, his head bobbing in little circles with the motion of the bus.
"Yeah, they look brand new," I said.
"That's 'cause they are. I just stole 'em at DSW. But don't tell the PO-lice though."
"I won't tell," I said.
"Ya know, you girls are good girls. The kinda girls a guy could get jealous over and spend every day with. You're the kinda girls I'd want to find if I weren't so fucked up on drugs and all."

Joelle and I didn't answer. With every pause he resumed his song, which may have been improvised, but included the following lyrics:

"She's out of my league... I try to tell her but she's out of my league... but she's so beautiful though..."

I won't tell you the things he said then, which were so graphic and vulgar that even I was forced to avert my eyes and pretend not to hear. He headed for the door when his stop came, but just before the bus stopped, he came back for one last exchange.

"So can I call you sometime?" he asked me.
"No, I've got a man," I said.
"Well, maybe you and I could still get together," he said, placing his hand on my knee, testing my boundaries. Public transit is all about testing boundaries.
"I think you need to get your hand off my leg, please." I was surprised at how firm my voice sounded.
"Ok, alright, I was just waiting for you to say so," he replied, his hands up in surrender all the way out the door of the bus. 

Everybody Dance Now!

I was riding into the city with my friend Joelle this weekend when three men in track suits and shades boarded the train with a boom box blasting C+C Music Factory.

"Ladies and gentlemen! It's your lucky day today, because you are about to see the show! Black guys dancing, here we go!"
"Yes, that's right! And all you have to do is sit back and put your hands together!"
"And remember, all we ask is that afterward, you hook us up with a generous donation. The best nation is a DO-nation!"

And one by one, they danced. The last guy did about fifteen flip-flops in the aisle of the moving train. We were all laughing and clapping at the break-dancing marvels. At the end of the song, about two stops later, they left, and we were back to ordinary commuting.

I turned to Joelle. "I love my life."

What Goes Wrong When the Holiday Store Stays Open All Year:

Can I Sit?

When a person sits on the aisle-side of two empty seats, it can mean one of two things:
1) I'm getting out soon.
2) I don't want a seat buddy.

When the train is crowded, neither of these things matters, and people will usually do the obligatory scoot. On the train last night, however, I saw a young man in a trench coat sitting in the aisle seat with his leather briefcase on the window seat. I asked him if I could sit, and he hastily rose to let me in, only he never sat back down. I read the same paragraph over and over, not understanding anything, wondering about the man's sudden preference for standing.