Whatever It Takes

Her hip-length shoulder bag bounced against my knees as she threaded her tiny self through the mouse-width space between me and the news racks jammed into the corner of the train station. Surprised, I pulled back into my seat to avoid further contact. She proceeded to shove the racks out of their parallel order along the wall far enough apart so they jutted out into the waiting room at odd angles.

I inhaled. What could she be doing? I wondered.

At first I accepted her hectic gestures as a match to what I assumed to be the mindless echoes of the hundred or so others who noisily milled around the rows of antique oak benches under the cathedral reverberation-high ceiling. The outdoor traffic and passersby that charged past the south facing windows completed my feeling of being trapped in a crowded bird cage. I had retreated to the slightly more secure corner bench as an island of safety. Until her unwanted assault, that is.

I reached a hand out to stop her random violence when she suddenly folded her knees to shove the end of a cord that dropped from her ears into the electrical socket that had been hidden behind one of the racks. After that, she stood, her back to me and the chaos of the room, readjusting the buds in her ears. Unbelievably, I heard her voice. Well, to be honest, I wasn’t sure at first what was happening because although the volume  was more than a murmur, the words were indistinguishable. But still, a melody floated free. It was soft and light, the opposite of her abusive entry into my sacred spot.

She swayed her tight printed skirt side to side in rhythm to the mystical song. Her shoulders and bag followed suit in perfect harmony like a marionette mannequin. Her words grew louder but were still undistinguishable to me who was just inches from her presence. Before I could attempt another interruption to her escapade, she placed both hands over her ears and dipped her long  black tresses forward as her chin dropped. It looked as though a teacher had asked her to listen more carefully.

Was she memorizing a song? I thought to myself.

I tore my eyes from her petite body to scan the rest of the building for the source of her mysterious appearance. I hadn’t seen her approach my bench and wanted to know who was with her but as I skimmed the seated individuals in the closest row of benches, no one looked her direction.  I assumed that no one knew or cared what she was doing.

It was within that moment I realized everyone else in the room was busy taking care of their own business and ignoring everyone else.  My decision to hide from their mindless happenstance  by receding to the corner seat had been an attempt to retreat to an island of safety – of avoidance. But their indifference to me and the culprit stealing my sought after serenity took my breath away. I looked back to my intruder. She danced unencumbered by any tradition, culture, or expectation;  wired by her cord into one  place – my place. I watched, transfixed, comparing myself to her. Her lively steps, contrasted harshly with my laden posture: a rolling stone verses a stationary rock.

The face of my eldest son immediately bloomed like a full moon behind my eyes. It squeezed away every other memory in my life. My heart felt squashed and empty of purpose like a concrete street smashed to rubble. I kneaded my forehead with both hands trying to forestall the roll of tears. I sobbed. I had swallowed my pride in making this journey to see him in his own hometown and had practiced verbalizing my intentions to make up for the lost years, but no matter what words squeaked out of my mouth, he refused to listen.  Didn’t know what to do with my pain so I just sat there, tears flowing and breathed.

Eventually my lady of offense pulled her cord from the wall, turned sideways toward me, eyes closed and head bent over as though she was an airplane pilot under headphones getting instructions while in flight. As she maneuvered her body back through my personal space, her lips passed inches from mine. I panicked at the closeness but there was no room to move out of the way wedged as I was in my seat. I had no choice but to note how her black eyelashes fluttered like delicate moth wings above the light fragrance of her delicate face. Her lips moved with the syllables of her melodic chant and I was caught within the language of its influence. The breathy utterance poured on me like the sweep of angel wings. I could not help myself: my smile met her bright smile. A bubble of joy filled my chest. If I had had my awareness during this exchange I would have raised my hands to her shoulders and stopped her. I would have stopped her to tell her that I loved her song. I would have stopped her to see those gentle lids rise to reveal a heavenly sight. I would have stopped her to tell her to never leave.

So captivated by her passing, I didn’t notice when she disappeared back into the crowd.

I glanced back to the news racks that leaned awkwardly against each other. She had left them askew like a wayward teenager. But this age-old judgment of mine faded under the weight of her aerial touch. I didn’t know what she prepared for, or retreating from,  in those cloistered personal moments, but I did know something very vital and irreplaceable about this unknown invader sent to me. I didn’t need to stop her in order to know that her whole being sounded the words “I feel alive!”

I exhaled and wiped the tears from my cheeks. It was clear to me that I could not change the world around me like the confusion in the train station lobby but I could change the world like she did. It was me who had to drop the rock.