Last Leg

“All parts of the human body get tired eventually – except the tongue”  ~Konrad Adenauer

So it seems the world came out for the Boston Marathon today.  I normally take the first train into Boston on the commuter rail to make it into the office by 7AM and today I saw a different kind of crowd than usual. . . as I walked through the Garden and over to the T, an older gentleman and what I would presume to be his granddaughter (she looked about five) were walking ahead of me.  Seeing as I was incredably tired and just wanted to crawl back into bed- can I just say that doing pilates at 10PM at night when you wake up at 4AM isn’t the smartest thing in the world? – I was walking much slower than usual.  Normally I almost clomp to the front to beat the slowpokes who decide that taking the stairs= I-can-go-down-them-VERY-slowly-&-take-up-the-WHOLE-staircase-by-walking-in-the-middle-w/bags-on-all-sides-of-me.  Today- today was different.  You could feel the anticipation in the air and yet I couldn’t have cared less.  I know- calous of me.  I have been sleepin about 4-5 hours every night for almost two weeks now.  I can’t keep this up. I digress.  Even at 6AM you could see them- the marathoners with their red bags.  I myself basically passed out once on the T. 

Silver in clothing keeps odors away ~book title by Michale Rubinkam

On the way home I also was basically passed out until North Station but about a minute or two before the stop one guy near me struck up a conversation with a marathoner and found out the man had run 23 Boston Marathons in total and that today he had done just about 4 hours.  I kind of wish I could have stuck around to hear if he had any more stories but my train beckoned me.  There were other runners coming out of the subway though- a young man with “Beverly” written down both his calves walked slightly gingerly towards the Garden wrapped up in the shiny blankets that look as if someone pulled out the aluminum foil.

Brain: It must be inordinately taxing to be such a boob.

Pinky: You have no idea.   

I couldn’t help but be annoyed with the spectators who don’t understand the commuting system though.  The athletes- I had respect for them regardless of if they know how to use the trains because they’re probably low on eletrolites and they’ve worked SO HARD; but the spectators annoyed me.  I can’t help but feel that if I had to toil all day at work, these people shouldn’t be messing up my commute by not knowing which train to get on, which track was where, in the mean time just STAND in the MIDDLE of the station trying to figure it out.  It was almost like the time Disney on Ice came through with High School Musical and all these little children with their parents were in North Station confused and dazed as to how it all worked.  I wanted to be like “GO WALK HOME IF YOU CAN’T FIGURE IT OUT!  IT’S CALLED READ THE SIGNS: IF IT SAYS 5:10 NEWBURYPORT ON TRACK 3 AND YOU WANT THAT TRAIN- GO TO TRACK THREE!!!!!!” 

 

A Man Named Charley

‘If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.’ -Henry David Thoreau, Walden

I sat on the T, worried over the many problems facing me for the day:
-A car that barely started and probably wouldn’t start when I got back to the station
-A new job on Monday in which I was starting to feel overwhelmed by already
-A cell phone that needed a new screen
-Traveling issues due to the car dilemma
-and more

Then Charley got on the T

Before he sat down a cute guy passed me by and I hoped he’d sit down in the empty seat next to me
He didn’t- Charley did
Greyhaired and and with a bushy greying beard, he sat down with his bag and sketch notepad on his lap
Almost immediately he started cracking up, all by himself
I looked around wondering if anyone else was noticing this breach of the code of common conduct
Everyone else- too afraid to break the code- too afraid to look interested in anything but themselves- just sat around, not daring to look
Charley spoke of Harvey and they had a convoluted, one-sided conversation
Everytime Charley would address Harvey he’d put his cane to his mouth
As I looked at the cane, I noticed a metal label with the words HARVEY engraved on it
Soon a young man, probably going to college in the city, struck up a conversation with Charley
He asked him questions as one does to those you think are mentally disabled
I think some of us laughed on the inside- mocking this man who dared to break out of the norm
Charley just ignored the laughter and kept it all up
The young man’s stop came and he said goodbye to Charley
Charley returned to his conversation with Harvey and many would take a glance and then go back to their shells

“I don’t even get paid for this”

He says it under his breath and what I had suspected all along is confirmed:
Charley is doing this in an effort to amuse random strangers
“look at the weirdo, the poor mentally disabled”
in the end, he is probably the only one who ususally knows it’s only a con. . .

As he goes to leave he says goodbye
“Goodbye Charley” I say
“Goodbye sweetheart” he replied

I think all along he knew- I’d caught on to him but I didn’t give him away

March to your own drum Charley, march to your own drum