| |
i ride the max out to gresham three days a week. inevitably, i have to ride it back to portland three days a week. yesterday, on the train platform, i bumped into the seven-foot drama teacher from work. his bike makes mine look like one a bear might ride in the circus. we said hello and began idle conversation for what i thought would be the duration of my trip.
the seven-foot tall drama teacher is an aspiring actor who goes to auditions for commercials and things, hoping his height will land him a part. for now, he's an elementary school drama teacher. of course, he and i standing near one another is beyond comical. i mean, the guy is well over a foot taller than i am.
silence on the train doesn't bother me, but i naturally assume that it bothers other people. so, when he was finished talking about a papa murhpy's pizza commercial, i said something about something else. and then i mentioned some time when i did something that sort of dealt with something one of us had said earlier.
when i board the train, i put my little blue cycling cap on the rack and hang my front wheel on it. then, i sit in one of the seats designated as for the elderly or disabled. i stay pretty aware of the other riders and--following the bus rules of the middle school where i used to work--i always give up my seat to anyone older, younger or more deteriorated than myself.
but yesterday, i guess i became too caught up in my idle conversation about whatever it was about. the train grew crowded and i heard a small accented voice ask me, "what's wrong with you?" i interpreted the question as more of a statement, like, "get the hell out of my seat." i immediately stood and offered the seat the gentleman who was pointing out my youth and health.
the man was old, drunk and desperate. he sat next to the giant drama teacher, took a much needed breath and began speaking to me. he had no top teeth and had horrible breath. there was a light red ring around his lips and a red line down his chin. i couldn't tell if it was dried blood, wine or just a kool-aid moustache. regardless of what it was, i was bored with talking to the drama teacher and chose to listen to the old man. he thanked me for moving and slowly extended a fist, offering daps. daps would ensue three or four times in the next few minutes.
there are many russians in east portland, and his accent sounded russian to me. "what is your perspective on love?" he asked me. i told him i would have to think about it--that it was a deep question and would require a lengthy answer. he had small blue eyes that twinkled behind emerging tears. he stared into my eyes, awaiting a better answer, but i just didn't have one.
"i know true love," he pleaded. "people asked jesus, 'who is your father?' and he told them, 'god is my father.' 'then, where is he?' they asked. 'my father an i, we are one!'"
his voice rose and his eyes welled as he again stared at me. i felt he was waiting for me to respond, so i told him, "i don't know what to say to that." i had just finished a day of teaching third graders and didn't have quite the energy for that manner of conversation. still, my empathy kicked in and, smelling alcohol on his breath and the tears in his eyes, i did all i could not to make him feel bad. but really, i didn't know what to say. he extended his fist and gave me daps. he asked me, "what is a church?" i didn't know how to answer.
the drama teacher chimed in and asked the old, drunk russian man where he was headed. on the train platform, he was telling me a of a new tim robbins movie in which the story of jesus is dissected in three chiding contemporary stories. certainly, he was also made uncomfortable by the conversation. still, the man didn't answer, but asked me again about my perspective on love.
true love for that man was loving jesus. it made me think of a larry david rant in which he says that loving another man, jesus or otherwise, seems kind of gay. of course, i wasn't going to share those sentiments with that guy. the look on his face was too sincere, too real.
the drama teacher patted me on the shoulder and, with a grin, wished me luck on my ride and then got off the train at 60th. at the same time, the old man was talking about st. peter, but began trailing off. my stop approached, so i reached out my hand to the old man and told him it was a pleasure to meet him. we shook hands, dapped one last time and then he opened his arms to hug me. i gave the guy a hug, rushed to get my bike down from the rack and left the train.
on my way to get a haircut, i felt that conversations like the one i had just had are ones that make people attend church, find jesus and preach on the max. not me. at least, not anytime soon. striking and memorable nonetheless.
-matt
"
And I'm reminded of the time that I was blinded by the sun.
It was a welcome change from the sight of you hanging
like a willow off the arm of yet another visionary
prophetess east van punk."
|
| | Posted 3/19/2008 11:54 AM - 69 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
- recommend
  - recs0
- share
- email
 - sent1
|
