Thursday, August 22, 2013

Blast From The Past - Part II

There he was, standing on the subway platform.

 I couldn't place him at first.  The way my mind works - first thing that registered was his extra few pounds, the fewer hairs on top of his head. His crumpled suit coat, crinkled shirt, his worn shoes.  I knew him but I didn't know from where.

And then it hit me.

He was the one I spent four days with the second time I was temporarily thrown out of my house.  His greasy apartment in Brooklyn.  His oily smile.  Whispered instructions under filmy covers.  The price paid for half a week's rental.

All this in the span of about five seconds. 

I broke out into a serious sweat.  Just flushed and dripped right there on the train platform - hundreds of people milling, crowd noise disorienting.  And there he was, reading his paper, waiting for a train to somewhere-  maybe that little rat hole in Brooklyn.  Or maybe he'd moved on up to City digs.  Either way, my past confronting me on my evening commute.  I felt the sudden urge to pass out.

And then it happened.  He looked at me.  Right at me.  Through me.  No recognition, not even a flicker, in his dull, muddy brown eyes.  Just another four nights.  Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

And just like that - I smiled.  Another test, another victory. 

I am not her anymore.


There are forks in Life's Path.  Sometimes we make decisions about which road to follow, sometimes we just pick one.  But the all have consequences.

I don't know how my life will turn out - I guess no one really does.  We plan, we try, but life happens.

But I still realize, despite the seeming randomness of it all, i have to keep trying.  I have to keep fighting.  Life is a grind.  Choices are a grind.  But, to keep the analogy going, I need to keep grinding it out.


I got off the train, walked to my apartment, and got dinner going.  The world didn't end.  David didn't suddenly decide to divorce me.  My mother didn't pop out of the fridge, laughing and calling me a dirty whore.  Everything was just....the same. 

Grinding.  Winning. 

Slow and steady wins the fucking race.

Moving on.

Still, I did double check the platform this morning when I was going to work.

1 comment:

  1. Your mothers in the fridge?

    Gives whole new meaning to Russian/French/Ginger/etc. dressing...