Escape/Return

It's difficult to write about people on the train because i never know when they're getting off. Strangely enough, as i was contemplating the impermanent relationship i have with my fellow subway travelers, the little boy sitting cross-legged by the window woke from his nap and said, "One more stop?" "3 more," came the reply from his mother.

She's got another child in a stroller facing her. And a cold. She keeps sucking the snot up into her nose. That's about all i can see of her without being obvious (note: i don't know why i insist on being subtle.) The cross-legged boy is leaning up against his mother and falling asleep again. I wanna be asleep. How did these days get so long?

An older white guy in the opposite seat by the window. He's leaning on the glass instead of his mother. His mother is probably dead, but that's my personal projection based on the fact that old age doesn't run in my family. He looks completely present, but not for the moment that's happening now. His eyes are alert, but not scattered. His facial muscles move just so or he tilts his head slightly in one direction and then the other, rehearsing his next important conversation. The look on his face is painfully familiar, but i'm not quite sure i can name it.

My nomenclature is interrupted -- Apparently, the mom with the cold and two children lost track of the stops. When the doors open at Bay Ridge Avenue, she jumps up and yells, "C'mon!" At her cry, another child emerges from the seat behind her. She quickly shoves the sleepyhead into awakening and takes hold of the stroller. Turning the wheels on the stroller slows her down and i think, i should probably be helping her instead of writing about her. Fortunately, the woman sitting next to the door is more useful than i am and holds the door open. The walking boys are doing their best to gather their sleepy confusion into enough order to move in a straight line. Their lines keep converging and they, along with the mom pushing the stroller, arrive at the door at the same time. They bump back and forth into each other like they and the closing subway doors were forming a mini-moshpit. "GO!" the mom says, although she knows that's exactly what they were attempting to do and that's exactly the problem. The doors rebound open and they tumble out, like toys spilling from an overstuffed closet. Mom smiles and says, "Thank you," to the woman who held the door for them. I feel like i just watched Houdini.

As he leaves, the suitcase he rolls behind him provides me with thie final clue i need to solve the mystery of his expression: the look of someone returning home after a long time. He was thinking, They've stayed here and i left. Will they be different? I'm different- will they notice?

They'll be different, but he'll think they're all the same because they're in the same house and have shopped at the same grocery store and taken the same train and eaten at the same restaurants, but they've changed, too. Despite the fact that they don't know it. Fine-toothed changes, hairline differences that go unnoticed until...

And they'll wait for the first signs that he has changed. Does he still like American coffee? I thought he used to put salt on his eggs. Should we have more wine in the house?

And the first time there's a disagreement, someone will finally get to say, "You've changed." Or maybe, "I've changed." But it will be the same argument as ever. Where are the keys? You had them last. So help me look. Did you take the garbage out? After dinner. So the whole place smells while we eat. You've done this and i don't like it. You won't do this and i want you to do it. You don't like this thing i do and i won't do that thing you want me to do. Why can't you be what i want when i want it and why won't you let me do what i want when i want to do it? Things would be easier that way.