Face/Off

I found myself in a game of chicken with a goose today while I rode my bike up the Riverway. She won.

Mystery Boxes

Getting onto the train today, I spotted a dainty box in the lap of an awkward boy I sat next to. It was shaped like a white gingerbread house and brushed with warm oriental flowers and unfamiliar red characters. It looked imported, but it was made of the thin cardboard Mike's Pastry uses, and he held it in his hands as though he'd only just acquired it.

I suppose this won't surprise you, but I was so stricken by the guy's parcel that I bumped into him. I apologized. He looked up at me to report that he was fine. I thought that was enough to serve as an invitation for my burning question.

"Where did you get that box?" I blabbed.
"Chinatown," he answered, looking pleased at my interest. And then, as if he knew it was inevitable, he peeled back the top flap to give me a peek. "They're Chinese treats; I don't really like them, but they're for a friend."

I guess I'd expected a collection of beads or thimbles or an exotic talking bird, but the fluffy breads kind of killed the magic. I looked down at the book in my hands.

"So... how are you?" he asked anxiously.
"Good," I sighed. "Glad to be done with work and headed for a nap." I smiled faintly and lifted my bookmark.

And that was how we failed to meet each others' expectations.

Jam Tomorrow, Jam Yesterday

The other day I walked into Starbucks to find a bitter old man accosting each barista, one by one, with variations on the following:

"You wanna jam!? I'll show ya how to jam!"

"You think you know how to jam, huh?"

"Why do you always wanna jam?"

I really don't know what he meant by jam, but this is what I was thinking:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-MLwPW86Rs

After they asked him to leave enough times, he showed himself out and proclaimed, "Ya' all so fuckin' stupid!"

Random Acts of Worship, Pt. 2

I was waiting for an outbound green line train on Thursday when I heard a solo Amen chorus from somewhere in the station. The concrete walls muddied the sound so that I had no clue where to find its source. People around me leaned forward and back to peer around columns, but no one knew where to find the singer. When my train pulled up, I crossed the platform and lined up to get on. It seemed that a train had just dropped off another load of red line passengers, because a crowd of people swarmed up from the lower level. I glanced over to where they came from and noticed a tall black man lowering his straight arms from overhead just as the singing stopped.

Random Acts of Worship, Pt. 1

There is an idol in a box along Willow Street in Somerville. It's set in front of the porch of a blue house on an all-residential block. I think it's Jesus, but I'm not sure. It is a little Prince dressed all in white with a cape and crown. He's worn and water-damaged, but there are usually some fresh flowers in front of and around his box. I have seen him many times and thought about taking a picture of him for the blog, but I wasn't sure if he really spoke for himself.

A few days ago, I saw an old man in a blue L.L. Bean jacket standing before the prince with bowed head. It was pretty cold out, but the man braved the wind with his bare hands folded softly across his chest. There are churches all over the neighborhood. I had to wonder why the man chose that place to pause.

XOXO

I just saw a man scattering Kibbles n’ Bits in Copley Square. He held the bag with one hand and reached in for handful after handful with the other, tossing the little brown shapes like wedding rice. I tried not to crunch any as I walked through them, so as not to disrupt his mysterious project and not to leave smelling like dog food.

I wonder what happened after I left. Specifically, I wonder if all the dogs in the park suddenly gathered around him and marched and munched in a swirly kaleidoscope.

All Hallows Ev'en

I saw a lot of people in costumes on the train last night. There was a guy in a white lab coat looking exhausted and miserable, and for a moment I thought that it wasn't a costume at all, and that he was on his was home from work. But then I saw his embroidered monogram: Seymour Bush, Gynecologist. That's when I knew it must be a costume, because no gynecologist would ever leave the hospital in his lab coat and also probably wouldn't take the T.

Two girls next to me wore itsy bitsy dresses with lace-up tops and low-cut chests. I didn't know what they were supposed to be until I realized that the checkerboard pattern against a yellow background identified one as a taxi. And in case I'd missed that, there was a sticker that read "Free Rides" on her right breast. The other dress was red, so I figured that girl was a ladybug or a devil, but I guess it doesn't matter. I've come to accept that in my generation of young American women, Halloween has more to do with what we aren't wearing.

And so I can't help but miss the Halloween of my youth, where we all acted scary and went around exploring our neighbors' porches and entryways and pawning off Smarties on our little sisters.

But I must add that I still had a grand time making up a spooky story about the person hovering over me in a skeleton mask for two stops. And that I wish I could go here: Seven Unique and Terrifying Haunted Attractions at One Location!

Thank You Very Much

This weekend a man playing classical guitar murmured something as I stood waiting for a train. He was looking right at me when he said it, so I figured it was directed at me.

“What’s that?” I asked.
“I said you was the only one I was even thinkin’ about,” he answered.
“Oh.” I had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn’t seem like the kind of conversation that I ought to pursue, so I stared down the tunnel to look for a train and hoped that would be the end of our encounter.

After a moment he began to play again, but then he suddenly stopped.

“Fuck this, I’m outta here,” he said, standing and working his guitar strap forward over his head. “Fuck you very much!” he announced to the platform. And then, just for good measure, “Fuck you!"

I looked over while he counted his change and packed up, and only then noticed his Dr. Seuss T-Shirt: Would you, could you, with a goat?

Rainbow Brite

Today at Staples, I felt strangely drawn to a display of colored paper. I wanted to consume the paper even though I had no conceivable need for it. I just wanted to make the colors a part of me and carry them out into Boston. A few blocks away from the store, I saw a girl with blue, green, and purple hair. I felt like we had that in common.

Nuclear / Snack Fare

My boyfriend got ahead of me coming over the Mass Ave. bridge on our bikes the other day. By the time I caught up to him, he was pulled over talking to another biker, a fortyish round man with ruddy cheeks and no helmet. I caught the tail end of their exchange.

“Yeah... see that smoke over there? That’s a nuc, right here on campus. That’s the Cambridge nuc!” The man pointed to a hazy vent on an MIT building.
“Oh really? Geez, I never woulda guessed...” said Morgan. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to laugh, not knowing what led into his remark.
“Oh yeah. You spend enough time around campus you get to know things... like MIT’s got the best sandwiches, but then at Harvard you’ve got those handsome scholars bakin’ you cookies...”
“Wow. Thanks for the inside scoop,” I said, confused and sort of thrilled at my timing.
“Have a good day!” Morgan said, starting out home.
“You too.”

As Morgan and I rode away, I pressed him for the information I had missed. Did he know that man? What was his story? Or how did they end up talking?
“He just pulled up and started in on the nuc.” Excellent.