Commuters and Conspiracies

Today is the 21st of February, and I slept on the train taking me to work. Usually I look out the window and search for amazement in the buildings that pass by, holding the territory they've claimed a helluva lot longer than I've been here. Thanks for having me! Today though, I wasn't interested in stationary turf wars, tired from sleeping too much. It was too good, sleeping that much, and I wanted more. My eyes were shut lightly, trying to recapture the feeling I had before drive time radio turned my dreams weird and public, while people shuffled in and out of the train car, unexcited by their capitulation to common goals and destinations. It's odd, really, that my love of sleep is so great that I'll share it with the random passengers that board the train. Seems such a private thing, and the question of my comfort was small voice behind my ear. But here I was snoozing away like a tired wino on a hard mobile futon, while a girl sitting next to me grades essays of indeterminate subjects, as though we were estranged lovers in bed trying to pretend the other doesn't exist. It was sweet, and I hoped she would leave first.

I like giving consipratorial nods to people I pass on the street, like we were comrades that shared a secret knowledge of shadowy pacts, confirming and denying that knowledge in a simple gesture. It's somewhat silly, but for the most part people nod back as though they're in on it too, slightly grinning, and that makes me smile. It really is a win win situation, if they don't nod, it's as though they're too deep under cover to draw attention to themselves, and that makes me smile too. Today I saw this little kid, probably about a year and a half, maybe two, at the bus stop. His stroller was precariously perched at the edge of the curb by a somewhat inattentive mother, and while that gave me the heebies, he seemed not to notice. I looked him square in the eye and gave him a slight nod. Surprisingly, he looked at me and nodded back! Now this kid is two at best, and let me tell you, this was not the nod of a two year old. He seemed fully in on the joke and smiled at my expression, and I, in mild, though controlled, shock smiled back. I gestured my eyes at his mother, and he shrugged, acquiescent to the role he was playing, and smiled big, seeming relieved to be able to finally have a normal, if silent, conversation with someone. I chuckled and shook my head, and he laughed. Then his stroller started slowly rolling backward into traffic. I jumped up and jammed my foot behind one of the wheels, as his mother spun around at my movement. "I got it, I got it!" she said indignantly as she put her hand on the stroller arm. I looked her in the eye and she looked away, "thanks." I turned away from her as the bus pulled up, a small nod to my short friend as I pulled out my bus pass. He nodded back.