A sunlit early evening, people busily on their way home, lost in conversation or their own thoughts. Why was the woman so close to tears?
There were ten of us who had taken the shortcut over the locks to North Station on our way to Park Street and the beginning of our Back Bay tour. Strung out in groups of two or three, we turned onto Causeway St and one of us accidentally cut off a smart-looking woman in her late twenties with a backpack headed in the same direction, or maybe just got close. Why don't you watch out? she muttered. Why don't you apologize? Her voice was tremulous. Sorry, we said, but she wouldn't let it go.
Things got confusing. We said we were on our way to tour the city but she transferred her resentment from us to some man back down the road who had on running gear and was stretching. I'm so afraid, she said, of that man in blue. Who? we wondered. Stay with me, she pleaded, and started to cry, dabbing her eyes. We clustered around asking if we could help.
We're heading across the street to the station. Come with us, we said.
My husband is picking me up. How will he find me? she asked.
We started crossing the street and as we did, the guy in blue ran by and away with not a glance in our direction.
As entered the station, some of us wanted to wait with this distraught person, but, cellphone in hand, she looked out to the street and said that she had seen her husband's car, and ran toward it.
The whole episode of a few minutes moved from standard street grouchiness to paranoia to passionate relief. Had you been alarmed by the runner? Did you see us as enemies, or allies? Was the relief in your voice due to your actually sighting your husband? Was this city such a scary place for you?
So many questions, but we were on our way, and in fact had a good tour. You were soon forgotten. But now you come to mind. We were all like fish in a river, tranquilly navigating the current lines of pedestrian and vehicular traffic, but you were flailing in the flow. I hope you found rest that night.
There were ten of us who had taken the shortcut over the locks to North Station on our way to Park Street and the beginning of our Back Bay tour. Strung out in groups of two or three, we turned onto Causeway St and one of us accidentally cut off a smart-looking woman in her late twenties with a backpack headed in the same direction, or maybe just got close. Why don't you watch out? she muttered. Why don't you apologize? Her voice was tremulous. Sorry, we said, but she wouldn't let it go.
Things got confusing. We said we were on our way to tour the city but she transferred her resentment from us to some man back down the road who had on running gear and was stretching. I'm so afraid, she said, of that man in blue. Who? we wondered. Stay with me, she pleaded, and started to cry, dabbing her eyes. We clustered around asking if we could help.
We're heading across the street to the station. Come with us, we said.
My husband is picking me up. How will he find me? she asked.
We started crossing the street and as we did, the guy in blue ran by and away with not a glance in our direction.
As entered the station, some of us wanted to wait with this distraught person, but, cellphone in hand, she looked out to the street and said that she had seen her husband's car, and ran toward it.
The whole episode of a few minutes moved from standard street grouchiness to paranoia to passionate relief. Had you been alarmed by the runner? Did you see us as enemies, or allies? Was the relief in your voice due to your actually sighting your husband? Was this city such a scary place for you?
So many questions, but we were on our way, and in fact had a good tour. You were soon forgotten. But now you come to mind. We were all like fish in a river, tranquilly navigating the current lines of pedestrian and vehicular traffic, but you were flailing in the flow. I hope you found rest that night.
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