Sitting amidst the downtrodden in spirit on the tup-tup trolley, I tend to romanticize my life. It is what gets me through. What I can’t romanticize is how utterly un-present my downtrodden companions seem to be. Their faces buried in the glow of smart phones. Smart phones, dumb people? Harsh? I’d invite a debate on it, but I feel as though all takers would be more comfortable confronting my generalizations about life in the comments box. Tearing me down, not my ideas. That’s where we’re headed. I haven’t connected in a short while. This is sad. Every day I seek out THAT connection, THAT recognition in the eyes of others. The smiles of others. Perpetual grump seems to permeate the ridership. Whether this is justified or not, I can’t say? I’m as cowardly as they in some measure. But I still wonder. Am I my brother’s keeper? Yes. I see them. They are there. I don’t see through them. Grandma got on the E train to Heath Street today (do they give out Heath Bars when you get there, I’ve always wondered?) and as the train lunged forward, she peered around from a harbor to shield her from the momentum. There was none to be had. All seats accounted for by busy, busy people. Checking Facebook, and playing Words With Friends. Interaction? I saw it and logged it in my mind, being far away from the scene, yet close enough, I had faith that my brothers would surely give a seat over to such sweetness, such grace, but alas, nothing came, no interaction, no support. I vaulted from my seat from across the other side of the car and moved toward her. She was teetering and balance was elusive. A broken hip the potential enemy. Magically, the people around saw my hulking form. A threat? See something say something. Then the picture became clear to those in the immediate vicinity. Momentum did not carry her to a harsher end, but allowed for a few smiles and awkwardly place hands, and respectful acknowledgment of the seats that now came aplenty. “No trouble, no trouble, Thank you.” Once situated in a seat, the others nearby looked at each other and half-apologized for being absent in the critical time. In the end, no harm came. All went back to their self-anesthesia. I returned to my seat. It was occupied. Luckily, Longwood leaped to the call, and I disembarked the tup-tup trolley. I tend to romanticize my life, even in small measured moments when those around me can’t afford a thought to their fellows. I wonder, yes I wonder, how far the pendulum will swing, and when I will find THAT connection THAT recognition, and whether I’m the hero or anti-hero in my own narrative. It only lasts for a moment, as I nearly walk into the person in front of me because they stopped to compose a text. I instinctively say sorry, and walk around to wait at the crosswalk. I need a DeLorean equipped with a flux capacitor, and I need to get the fuck outta here.
Published by Christopher Hickey
Welcome to my effort. Yes, as a great procrastinator, it requires great effort to stay focused on something productive that matters to me. I’ll find any old excuse to traipse from project to project, and I rarely end up at the place I started. I find this maddening, and exhaustive. So it is with high hopes, and a greater grasp of self-awareness, that I embark upon staying the course so to speak. I enjoy writing. Be it blogs, fiction, poetry, etc. I love the craft and the act of creation, the art in and of itself, for it’s own sake and end. I am happy to be able to do it. Some stats: Born: March 1974 Education: St.Francis de Sales, Charlestown MA Don Bosco Technical High School, Boston MA University of Massachusetts at Lowell, Lowell MA Bunker Hill Community College, Charlestown MA DePaul University, Chicago, IL North Virginia Community College, Arlington VA Harvard Extension School, Cambridge MA Place of residence: Somewhere in the land of metro Boston. It’s vaguely familiar and becoming home more and more by the day, but when you come from “The Town” all else fails by comparison. Favorite Color: I’m partial to all forms of blue. Favorite Author: c’mon! don’t expect me to answer that, there are too many. I enjoy memories of playing 80’s Atari better than playing any advanced gaming system that exists today. Some day: Hope to be recognized for my paper clip collection. As well as my 27 rejected applications to Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailiey Clown college. View all posts by Christopher Hickey