Unexpected Disappointment

A boy has his legs wrapped around presumably his dad's neck, sitting over his shoulders. The entire father-son creature is standing behind the window to the front of the train, and the two heads are talking about the tracks that the train is rolling over, consuming them as the train moves along.

The boy reminds me of my nephew, but only in terms of age and curiosity for trains. My nephew is a little rascal that is always running around screaming, at least in my presence. I think about little children, of having children, of how foreign that concept is, it seems. I don't think much about it, but when something makes me think about the topic, I realize having children may be a concept that lives only in other people's lives, and it remains simply something elusive in my life.

To call it "elusive" implies I can't have it, which implies I want it. I don't know if I want it. It is merely interesting to note that I am unlikely to get it, whether I want it or not.

I am in one of those new trains. I have been taking the train everyday for more than half a year since these fancy M-5 trains were introduced. They were part of all the controversy during the blizzards of this past winter when the MTA was unable to get many of their old trains moving in the freezing and snowy weather. To sit in one, finally, makes me want to pretend I am in a fairytale.

There's a man with a British, or at least non-American but English accent, talking non-stop. I don't know what he is talking about; the whole accent and the fact that he's constantly talking annoys me. Across from me is a man with sunglasses hugging his scalp (it's pouring out, not sure what the sunglasses are for), and he is also using a Mac. The train is noticeably quieter. It reminds me of a European train. It smells new. It's spacious. And the announcement is actually computerized and clear. I wonder if I will be still commuting to Stamford when all the trains are modernized. I wonder how long I will be working here now that I am the sole custodian of the subgroup that I joined only seven months ago.

It's pouring outside, and I think about my roof. I wonder if the coating worked. I wonder what I would do if it doesn't work. Give up?

Tonight I was planning on hanging out with the pianist before I disappear over the weekend for tango in Baltimore. But the rain became one of the reasons for that not to happen. The strangest thing happened to me when she told me she didn't feel like meeting up anymore. I felt my eyes getting tired. My blood pressure rising. My breath lighter but the breathing harder. I found myself irrational. Not seeing the obvious.

And I saw myself, as if from the outside, and wondered how it was possible that I saw myself.

A rather large man is sitting next to me, his legs splayed out as he dozes off after undoubtedly a long day at some financial firm, probably mine. His left giant leg is rubbing against my right one, and I don't know what to do to keep it off my personal space, or what to do to not let it bother me.

Why do things bother me? Why did it bother me that the pianist canceled? Sometimes I know the answer, but when my eyes get tired, when my blood pressure rises, and when I have trouble breathing, all rationality vaporizes. Almost. There's a voice that explains why I didn't have to behave like that. There's another voice that says it's OK to feel whatever you need to feel. It's the feeling of disappointment. Normal except in its depth.

The sun is piercing through the clouds in the direction of New York City. It takes that simple act of nature, piercing the clouds with sunshine, to help me feel good again. The difficult breathing, the heavy eyes, the throbbing pulses, a distant memory.

Still, I am a little afraid, afraid of myself. I don't really understand that distant memory, the depth of disappointment. It was in some ways natural. It happened without thought, without desire. It simply happened. It happened just like if you cut my skin blood will come out. There is no will to make it happen or to stop it. And I am afraid it will continue to get me in trouble. It has gotten me in trouble in the past, and by getting in trouble I mean pushing people away, pushing those I want to be with away. In the end, of course, those who really want to stay, perhaps not exactly in the way I want them to, stayed, despite these reactions of mine. Still, I am afraid.

The train is an express back to New York. Perhaps I should linger a little and watch the sun set over Bryant Park. I have time now. I am not in a hurry. I don't need to cook, do laundry, or anything. Something to treat myself with. Savoring the conquest of the sun over the rain in one of my favorite parks.