Walter Mencken 11 a.m., Nov. 27
- Community Blog
The Morena Myth
***I stared out the window waiting for a sign, I had never been a religious man but wished for clarity during this time of insanity. An elderly man sat directly in front of me, the morning paper propped up in front of him. The front page read 'fire claims youth'. My eyes quickly diverted back to the window. I knew I had to get off the trolley at some time, where and when was a mystery. A middle age woman was plopped down beside me, she was slightly overweight, she had greasy brown hair and wore a bizarre rainbow looking dress. In her right hand was a cheap magazine, the ones women buy just to occupy themselves. Her left hand held a pencil, her tight grip signaling her frustration at the crossword. I do not like to stereotype, but the woman and questions seemed to differ.
'Six across beginning with d, who painted the Mona Lisa'
The woman had an almighty gaze that never left the page, I felt if she stared any longer the magazine would catch fire. I could not help but laugh aloud inside my head, as she inserted di caprio as the answer. My moment of joy quickly evaporated as I realized my life was a mess, I had nothing to wake up for, to smile for, to work for and as I left my seat, an unnerving pressure hit me. If God is the creator, what makes us the decider. We can act on our thoughts yet when the being who gave us these feelings to come down and save us, it objects without hesitation. I made my way to the rear of the trolley, strangers idly glanced up at me. people say those that commit suicide are cowards, the more important question is what brings a person to the point of no return. I was an ordinary teen with a loving family, that was until two days ago. My last stop would be the Morena.
As the trolley pulled into the station, I noticed a gathering of people who all appeared to be saying goodbye to a girl. A rare sight at a trolley station, the girl came into view as the trolley stopped. The employed and unemployed hustled their way past me, as I stood staring at the girl a meter or two away. She was like an undiscovered Cinderella, beauty yet forced to travel on a carriage of despair. A light breeze tickled her summer hay hair, she wore a white cocktail dress with a black strap at the waist, her exotic and charismatic face attracted the attention of others. I felt she was a fragmentation of my imagination, I guess sometimes in the chaos of life beauty rises up to conquer the darkness. She walked by me, taking her seat two rows down. This mysterious girl gawked out the window, as if she was searching for something. Suddenly, a tear trickled down her face. The people on board were to cut up with their own business to notice the crying girl. I could not help but wonder why she was crying, I unknowingly sketched her dazzling yet daunting face with a question mark beside it. I instantly knew this girl was my salvation and I was her savior.
I stared at the window, using the reflection as a window. My olive skin face, with brown eyes and scruffy hair and beard made me out to look like a rookie bum. Without a second thought, I sat down across from her.
'Hey my name is Tom, are you ok?' ' I like your drawing Tom' she whispered in a confident tone.
The sketch, I had completely forgotten. I could feel my cheeks flash a shade of red.
'I like the girls dress, so why do you think she is crying' asked the girl 'Ah... I presume she is sad' I replied foolishly.
She smiled, which in turn made me smile as I could tell she was genuinely happy.
The girl said 'your no Einstein of course she is sad however I must admit you do make a good Picasso but maybe you should try being Sherlock Holmes and find out why the girl is crying'. We shared another smile.
'I am Grace, nice to meet you Tom'.
Suddenly the trolley plunged into a trolley and came to an abrupt stop in the darkness. Grace grabbed my hand, I was confused so I just went for it and held her hand.
'I am afraid of the dark' she muttered.
I sat there holding her hand, we looked ridiculous, I knew it, she knew it, even the middle aged woman still struggling with the crossword knew it. Nevertheless we had both escaped out of the dark and into the light. As the trolley arrived at Old Town, I felt alive inside again.
More like this:
- In P.B. the hotter you are the easier it is not to care — April 17, 2013
- New Mom. — Oct. 1, 2010
- The Accidental Hippie — July 5, 2009
- Rosa Jurjevics in Boston — March 9, 2006
- Mom — May 5, 2005