"What were you doing out there?"
Another fucking reporter. Awesome. I guess the dog got loose again? Well, then! I guess he must have some pretty shitty owners, huh?
After a while you get used to these things, I suppose. For one reason or another, I thought I’d take the train into the city and see if it was more or less expensive than driving. Out of nowhere, I decided to get lost. Yes, decided. I knew the way back, because I found my way there without any problems. On a whim though, I felt like I’d get some “camera time" standing around on the platform and staring at the floor, the cold be damned. As I stood in the store two days later, here was the inevitable reprieve. The cashier gets mobbed, I get stalled up, and then this guy comes from behind to ask me about my wanderings.
"I don’t know." Stock response.
"The platform!" the guy said in alarm.
"Nothing." Yeah, right. “You were just standing on the platform?"
"Yeah," I said, laughing. I had an urge to stand on the platform of the BART. It’s true. “I felt like standing there, so I did." Such were the ways of me. I bridged the awkward silence with a smug series of nods. He’s going to check the footage anyway, watching me pacing and staring at the ground like I’m swimming through a pool of turds.
His patience was gone. Victory. “Why?!"
For a brief moment I relived that pool of turds and you could see it on my expression. “Eugh!" I tried to redirect the irritation at his presence, but he saw through it. Without so much as a goodbye, he turned away and tromped off dutifully, to deliver the report he had just acquired.
I’m not going to sniff out the bodies when I’m tied to a post; but at the same time, I wonder if that’s the point. These aren’t good people, and this I know for sure. Perhaps that was the motivation to providing the virtual prison they had exhausted so many resources to construct around me. This was my real gift, the only one I truly loved, that will always be mine. With this known, vilification wouldn’t come easily.
It was within months of this post that I was approached by an American as I hung out in a public place. I do this from time to time as a show of fearlessness: “If you want me, here I am. Go ahead and do me a favor." It inevitably devolves into the regular behind-the-back snickering, but every once in a while, I get a bone, so to speak.
As we conversed, I brought up the incident after I thought he was loyal to the ‘whatever’, looking to bring something home with him more useful than a roadside souvenir, and he looked at me hopefully, saying, “I remember that." I felt the loss in his voice.
"Yeah, me too." He felt the coldness in mine.
Those conversations never go much further. This one didn’t either.
