She was standing by the stairs at the Canal Street subway station—a woman in her late 30s. She wore grey/white/black sneakers, jeans and a grey T shirt with some gold like words in front. The woman closed her eyes. After a few minutes, she shook herself. No train was coming, so she closed her eyes again. This time her eyes did not open right away. The J train arrived and slowly she woke up.
There were some rowdy school girls when she got on the J, about 6 or 7 of them. They were hitting each other and laughing. The woman, who was holding on to the pole, turned around. Stop that, she shouted. The look in her eyes was angry. People looked at her and said nothing.
Archive for May, 2011
Not knowing, not being sure of what is going to happen and what can happen in this situation is annoying at best and frustrating at worst. I think about it and I wonder. I try to figure it out. Nothing is certain, nothing looks real or appetizing, even mildly so.
Run I know I have to run. I know I have to go, but run and go where? It is a humiliating experience, the one I am going through. It is a nightmare. It is worse than a nightmare. How much more of this? Till when?
No One Hears
I shout, I yell. No one hears me. I want to scream loud, louder, loudest, so that someone will care. People can’t be forced to care. My voice gets hoarse. It is weaker and weaker. Inside I am very strong. There is nothing else that I can be.
It is always uncertain. I never know what’s going to happen. I see the bags—the red duffel bags and the others—in front of me. They’re on the Windsor chair and on the floor. Moving. I am moving but I am not going anywhere. The bags are there; I am packed, just in case. I don’t know where I’m going.