dreaming reality

"Where'd you get that?"  I pointed at the thing in her hand, something I'd not seen before, which isn't unexpected, as it's been years since we were in the same room together.

"Switzerland," she answered.  Ever the world traveler.  Good.

"Yeah, I saw you were at the airport with Jenny - did you have a good trip?"  In my dreams is where we meet to catch up these days.  It's obvious she likes me better there.

"Did you talk to them about me the way you talked to me about them?" I ask the question that has only just formed in my brain that moment.  I thought we were special, and her vacancy from my life has confused me greatly.  A light bulb has appeared, though.  Suddenly, I get it.  "You did, didn't you?  All the times you complained about them, how needy they were, how juvenile, how dull - you said those same things to them, didn't you?  You just changed the names."  

She's gone.  

The place changes, begins to mist away - reality is crashing in.  I'm uncomfortable and shift positions and try to go back to that place - the image is before me again, but she's not.  I can tell she's listening, though.  

"That's why you were able to walk away from me, but never from them."

The radio keeps playing, even when you're not there to listen to it.  I want to know what songs it played, but I don't, because my feelings will be hurt and because it doesn't matter.  In that order.  

Thoughts formed over Mexican food

What kind of woman actively pursues a married man?  A married man with a child?

What sort of character must you possess to text things like "I'll leave the door unlocked, in case you're able to get away"?

What kind of woman ignores a wife's plea of "I need you to go away, like you promised you would"?



What kind of man actively pursues a woman who is not his wife?  What sort of father hurts the mother of his child in that way?  What is he teaching his daughter about how men should treat their wives?

How deeply flawed must one be to repeatedly lie and cheat?

What kind of man ignores his wife's plea of "If you love me, if you love us, please stop this"?



What kind of woman actively allows herself to be disrespected and demeaned?  What example does she set for her child?

How badly has she been hurt that she accepts that an unfaithful spouse is simply her lot in life, the way of things, nothing that can be helped?

What sort of woman is able to live in a world of instability and insecurity and fear that's been created by the man to whom she's devoted her life?



What kind of friend can listen to a tale such as this and not want to punch the lying cheating bastard in his face?  How could you not want to pull the triflin' bitch's hair from her ugly head?

How much trouble can you really get into for egging someone's car?

What sort of friend could ignore a scorned wife's plea of "Let's just go for a drive - please?"?

Giving money to homeless people, Take Two.

April 1, 2011

Washington, D.C. Trip

Day 1, Part 3

We left the garden and walked along.  Things were starting to close. 

 Jimi loved this building.

His father was a bricklayer, a Mason.  His father would've loved this building.

It's beginning to LOOK like Spring.

It felt like cold.

I love these shots, and I'm going to blow them up and hang them on my walls.

 This picture, though.

This picture tells a story.

Okay, so I confess - since our Metro ride I'd felt like a jerk for not giving the homeless dude some money.  I know Jimi gave the guy five bucks, but I felt like I should've probably done something more than just limply say (cue high-pitched whiny voice) "I don't have any change" like a bitch.  It was weighing on my conscience. Heavy.

We'd walked back Mall-side and come upon this recessed sculpture garden.  On our way in, we passed the man you may have spotted in the upper right-hand corner of the picture up there.  Do you see him at the top of the stairs?

 Can you see him now?

He's the sort of guy that sticks out like a sore thumb, but manages to blend in so completely with the scenery that most walk right past him, not seeing or refusing to see, not looking but staring out of the corner of their eyes, giving a wide berth without slowing, lest he feel inclined to speak to them.  

He was eating out of a styrofoam to-go container, but I got the impression maybe he'd pulled it from the trash can that served as his dining table this evening.  He was wearing two different shoes, one a sneaker, one a man's dress loafer.  His clothes were filthy and layered and torn, but there were a lot of them and he seemed warm enough.  Warmer than I felt, at least.  He had at least two coats, the outer one a long trench.  

We walked past him and down the stairs as he was having his meal, and my heart clenched in my chest.  We looked at a statue, a sculpture that represented humanity, and the ridiculousness of THAT, in the face of HIM, it punched me in the face.  I turned and looked back up at the homeless man.  He was pulling newspaper out of the garbage, smoothing them, folding them, settling down again at his makeshift table to read his evening news.

I couldn't do this.

I hollered ahead at Jimi, who hadn't noticed my angst and had continued on, and I trotted up the stairs, a wad of bills clenched in my hand in my pocket.  

He was huddled over top of the paper, a pile of standing rags hiding skin so weathered and worn it blended right in with the fabric.  

"Excuse me," I nearly whispered.  Nothing.  No movement.  

A little louder "Excuse me?"  Again, nothing.  I cleared my throat and repeated my query.  More of the same.

This is dumb, I thought.  "Excuse me, sir."  I spoke clearly and firmly, but not unkindly.  The man startled, and his eyes met mine - he was ageless, with lines and scars that could've made him 35 or 300.  Immediately, before I spoke another word, before I'd made my intentions clear, he returned my tentative smile with a wide-mouthed gaping grin, spread from ear to ear, and those eyes that were still on mine lit up with a kind light.  I counted three teeth, each in a different stage of decay.  Still, his smile was so good, so sweet, so trusting.  

"If I'm not being too presumptuous," I said, pulling my hand out of my pocket to offer him the bills, "May I please offer you a few dollars toward your next meal?"  

He continued to smile at me, and as if it were the most normal thing in the world for a stranger to approach him with cash, he said, "Yes, you may.  Thank you," and met my hand for the exchange and the moment was over. 

I walked back down the stairs to meet Jimi, and by the time I'd turned back, the man was gone.  

I hope he had something made-to-order.  

Giving money to homeless people, Take One!

April 1, 2011
Washington, D.C Trip
Day 1, Part 1

We drove all day Thursday, and then Jimi stayed up talking to his brother until the wee hours of the morning, so our start Friday was slow-going.  That's the beauty of vacation, though - no schedules, no time-tables, certainly no alarms.  We had breakfast at the Denny's, because I was craving pancakes and bacon and hashbrowns, then went back to the house to get cleaned up so we could drive up to the city and see what we could see.

For some reason, I'd gotten it in my head that the nearest Metro Park 'n Ride station was 20 miles from Jimi's brother's house.  I was way wrong - it was 60 miles.  D'oh.  Still, to not have to actually drive in the city, then wander in circles for an hour or three looking for a parking spot, it was well worth the $4.50 per day parking rate.  The Metro is my all-time favorite form of public transportation...not that I've sampled a large variety of public transit, but there's nothing intimidating about it.  Our local bus system, TARC, is awesome, but using TARC can be confusing if you're trying to get across town.  The Metro uses huge color-coded maps that are posted everywhere, making it nearly idiot-proof to go from one end of the city to the other.

And the people watching!  Holy smokes, the people riding the Metro are just so awesome.  One of these days, I'm going to get a day pass and just ride the trains all day, watching the people who get on and off.  The tourists are everywhere, of course, but so are the Lt. Colonels on their way home from a day working at the Pentagon.  Businessmen and women in sharp suits and shoes I only ever see on television or in magazines, because (cue hick accent) they ain't got them stores in Kentucky.  Single mothers with double strollers holding a pair of twins with very different personalities.  Huge afros and awesome mullets, scarlet and saffron robes of monks and brightly colored saris worn by Indian women with thick braids and *gasp* sandals?!  It's 40 degrees outside!!

The whole city's like that, of course.  It's just one huge melting pot.  We heard dozens of languages.  I love it.

A homeless guy got on the train at one of the early stops - I had a feeling.  I was right.  I went to put my arm around Jimi's shoulder and bumped the man's hand; he was reaching out to tap Jimi on the shoulder.  I swear, it's like we wear signs or something.  "Ask me for money, I never say no."

"Excuse me, sir," he scratched out in his (very cliche', if you ask me) scratchy, slurred, maybe-he's-not-drunk-now-but-he-probably-will-be-soon voice.  "Do you have sistyfie snent I cud barry to git sum buzz fare?"

I had money, but it was all twenties in a wad in my wallet and, while I'm pretty naive and green, even I know it's not such a good idea to pull out a big wad of cash in the middle of a crowded public place, so I said, "I don't have any change," even though the guy wasn't asking me for money.  This was my way of telling Jimi "I don't have anything small and I'm not giving this guy a twenty."  I knew baby'd come through - he gave the guy a five and told him to have a nice day.  We all leaned back in our respective seats and felt better about ourselves.

When the guy's stop came, he exited the train, but stopped to tap on the window next to our seats, smiling and waving.

"You made his day," I said to my beloved.

"Best five bucks I've spent all day," was his reply.

 <-- That's my happy face.

Karma.

The total was $16.93.

I only had a $20.  I could've scrounged for change, but I was feeling lazy.

Besides, I'm paying a $2 delivery fee, right?  Surely he gets some of that - even though their website proclaims quite loudly to the contrary.

But I was feeling lazy.

So I gave the guy the lame $3 tip.  His unenthusiastic, but still very polite, "Thank you very much, ma'am" let me see his disappointment and I almost said "hold on!" so I could run inside and scrounge for change.  But I didn't.  I just turned and walked back up on the porch.

And as I went to pick up my book to go back inside, my full, just-opened beer fell off the arm of the chair and rolled off the porch.

Karma.  It's a bitch.