I met her again
This time I knew she was the type to put on a show right away. As she stomped up the steps, she yelped “EW! SHAVE YOUR MUSTACHE!” to the driver and he pretended he didn’t hear it. “You’re sick! You’re all SICK! You fucking fat bellied white men and your sick fucking mustaches!” She walked passed me and I noticed she made contact with everyone and as if we all knew her this time, she quickly jumped into a spree of comments of native women getting slaughtered. she told us she spoke to Barack Obama on the phone, and that he is understands the need to take action against those who’ve raped and murdered the women. She said he loved her sister, who was killed for being native, and that anyone can get him on the phone. She cursed every single white man that got on the car yelling, “YOU FAT BELLIED WHITE MAN LOVE YOUR PRETTY LITTLE GIRLS!”. She said she spoke to God on the phone. She said she was sent here to spread the word. She said she made love to Jesus and she looked us in the eye as she walked down the aisle. Everyone seemed to listen. Young, old. An Asian man entered through the back and she cursed him too. I couldn’t help but look at her; I had avoided it last time and wondered if I would ever run into her again. I wondered if I share streetcars with several people I have shared with before; just not realizing it because they hadn’t left much of an impression, or because my head had no reason to be anywhere but in the clouds. When i looked at her this time I noticed she didn’t seem to have that emptiness in her eyes. An absense that so many people like her seem to possess. She seemed in control, untainted by hardships and deprivation. In that moment I thought she just seemed mean.
if there’s one thing i profoundly miss about living in a bustling metropolis, these moments that trigger deep philosophical ponderings. moments that make you question why you stay quiet so often, that make you question who you notice, don’t notice, and why. the honesty in people who seem lost, insane, unhinged, whose voices always seem to sound urgent and panicked. sometimes i wonder how we can stay “sane” in this world filled with so much horror, and am made to feel profoundly uncomfortable when i relate to the people who yell on the streets, on the streetcars, in the subways. uncomfortable because i know there is truth in what they are saying, doing, how they are acting. uncomfortable because i feel closer to them than to “normal” people.
