I hate those things!

It gets worse every day. Technology drives people further and further apart from one another. Connect to your Iphone and disconnect from humanity. We're social creatures turning into robots. Morning hellos and nodding heads have been replaced by finger stampedes on keys and touch screens. Our ears are plugged and pockets stuffed with toys that ring to urge us to communicate yet ignore the world. The subway roars with passing trains and the rustling bodies of strangers who enter and flee, but I don't hear any of this because I'm drowning them out with Iron and Wine while I fancy myself a travelling gypsy. I never stay in one place too long before moving onto the next adventure. I touch & taste everything a little at a time and this city is not a nuisance, but a novelty. I'm never disenchanted, but always in love because me and my sky-scraping lover, you see, we have our space. When my city threatens to get carried away with me I free myself from its claws and I free my city of me and my own misery.

 

I board the 6 train to 59th street and put on that far away look while I stare at feet. Some are perfectly pedicured while others are dirty with bunions and yellowing toenails, but I can't tell the difference because I'm looking but not really. My look is saying to these feet, "I'm in my own world and I want you and all your stinky toes to stay out of it." I glance up to break free of my world for a moment, because even in my own creations I need to escape, and there's a young man sitting across from me. He is greasy-haired and inked, drowning out the world like me. There's an older and overweight white-haired woman sitting to the left of him. It takes me a couple of seconds to hear her raspy voice grind the bells and strings of my gypsy music. He's lowered the volume of his Ipod to receive her. I've lowered the volume on mine to hear them.

 

"I haaate those things!"

 

He twists his neck to the left to peer down his shoulder and determine what she's talking about.

 

"You mean, my tattoos?"

 

"Ugh. Yes, they are sooo ugly! I don't understand why people do that to themselves!"

 

"Well...my girlfriend seems to like them."

 

The young man's eyebrow is raised and he's taking his earbuds out now. I can see that instead of becoming angry he is intrigued. Instead of dismissing the woman and turning up the volume of his Ipod, he's decided to pick her brain. The white-haired woman's face is two inches from his own as she speaks. It looks like she's going to kiss him. I am certain he can smell her breath as she continues on with her debate.

 

The passengers on the 6 will think she's crazy because she has pushed herself into this young man's world and he has not only allowed her to stay, he has welcomed her. And I have been pulled out of my world on a sheer spark of curiousity long enough so I am now a part of theirs. I say nothing, but I am listening. I eavesdrop on the rest of their conversation and even participate in my head. I watch the white-haired woman say goodbye and I wonder where they're both going and what they're thinking about now. I wonder if the young man's girlfriend has as many tattoos as him.

 

Author's Note

Fragments. Possible excerpt from memoir.