Finding the right way to the write way

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.

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