June 18, 2004

sometimes the night

In Grand Central Station just now, I exited my train to find a man had stumbled at the bottom of the stairs. On his knees, palms skinned from the concrete, he was clearly disoriented. A split second later, a police officer was gathering him up, righting the fallen man's suitcase to its wheels.

“I see you’ve had a bit of trouble, sir,” he said. “Let’s get you up.”
“I… I just…”

The man was mentally handicapped. Though nothing in his appearance suggested it, his speech gave away his disability. The officer took the man’s hand and checked his palms.

“That’s a heavy suitcase you got there,” the officer said. “Maybe I could give you a hand up the stairs?”

The line around the two men started moving more quickly, and I shouldered my own bag and moved on. But I was so profoundly touched by this unexpected tenderness that I felt wounded.

I still had tears in my eyes when I walked into my office.

It’s a variation on a theme, I suppose.

I cried last night, too.

Laying in the dark, consumed by silence, I threw the covers off. There in my t-shirt and bare legs, on the white expanse of my bed, I hoped that with nothing to camouflage me from the night, sleep would find me.

Tears ran into my hair and the feather pillow.

“You know, people don’t intend to be mean most of the time.” My mother had said earlier in the evening. “They’re just careless.”

“Which can be worse. Being mad is easier than being hurt.”

Later, full of Mexican food and forgiveness, I had walked her to the subway and gone home to sleep.

Sometimes the night can give you too much space to think. And sometimes, it closes in around you, wraps its fingers around your heart and squeezes. And as I lay there, surrounded by the white noise of my apartment, I fell prey to specific silence.

And when the night squeezed, I gave in and cried.

Posted by This Fish at June 18, 2004 09:14 AM
Comments

From my experience, it's better to cry before you sleep than it is to wake up in tears.

Fish, if you release the name of the one who wounded you, we shall have them whacked, or at least slapped upon both cheeks, post-haste.

Posted by: Esther at June 18, 2004 09:32 AM

Nah, it's not like that

Posted by: Fish at June 18, 2004 10:14 AM

Now I'm crying.

Posted by: Sara at June 18, 2004 10:19 AM

I find myself tearing up at such unexpected acts of kindness as well. It seems very wrong that something so good should make me feel so achey. Thanks for sharing that with us. :)

Posted by: Jen at June 18, 2004 10:20 AM

Fish, I'm sorry that your mother may not have gotten the gold star in mothering school every day. And yet, you impress all of us with what a strong woman you are (as well as a gifted writer). Your choosing to have a relationship with her, knowing her faults--that's maturity. Easy, no; courageous, yes.

Posted by: Russel at June 18, 2004 10:33 AM

gah! Reading this immediately after I blogged today on a very similar topic left me in search of Kleenex.

Posted by: Bond Girl at June 18, 2004 10:41 AM

You are an amazing writer. This post touched me. I traveled to Cairo a few months ago. At the huge museum an elderly tourist woman fell down a flight of wide marble steps. Her dear elderly husband had horror on his face as he watched her fall. She ended up being okay, but the sight was one of the hardest things about the trip... on par with seeing poverty even. Strange.

Posted by: Bek at June 18, 2004 11:16 AM

Thank you for sharing that.

People can be careless, not meaning to hurt but doing it anyway. We have these expectations of people who are important to us, and when they fall short of them, that can hurt just as much if not more than the thing actually said, or not said.

But we can't read minds; sometimes what seems so freaking obvious isn't to the other person. I'm going through a situation in which I have been the careless one, but I only found this out months after the fact. I would've made amends at once if I had known, but I guess it's been easier for the person to stay mad at me than to tell me I'd been hurtful.

I guess I'm just trying to say that it can be messy on both sides.

Posted by: Lady Crumpet at June 18, 2004 11:21 AM

That's it! I am now totally convinced that there is some weird computer virus that is throwing female bloggers into a serious funk. Crying jags and general mopey-ness and melancholy is raging across the internet. After reading this, I need to go hug someone and perform a random act of kindness.

Posted by: nikilovely at June 18, 2004 11:22 AM

It's a big ocean and we're all such little fish. Sometimes you just ride with the waves. Sometimes the sound puts you to sleep.

Posted by: Michael at June 18, 2004 11:33 AM

I'm grateful for those moments that make me cry. Let's me know I'm still alive and that I have feelings ... I can be touched.

Posted by: Kenna at June 18, 2004 12:02 PM

This was a very nice portrait.

Don't you sometimes wish that someone could share the space in your brain so that you didn't have to be alone in there?

Perhaps that's why everyone loves their cellphones so much. It's the closest thing to actually having your friends and family inside your mind so that you don't have to remember or reflect on your aloneness.

From reading your posts (essays), I am constantly reminded that the loneliness within ourselves is one of the greatest aches making up what we like to call "the human condition."

May you continue to strive and grow. And may Sir H (or someone else) lick the tears from your face.

Posted by: Michael R at June 18, 2004 12:26 PM

You said it perfectly. Night time can be the worst time.

Posted by: Agategoddess at June 18, 2004 01:08 PM

I just started reading your entries ~ it is so nice to know that other people ache when witnessing random acts of vulnerability and kindness. It always kills me. Which is good in a way. Just a reminder that I'm still in touch with the warm fuzzy section in my soul.

thank you

Posted by: moxielady at June 18, 2004 01:31 PM

Tears of joy for the small kindnesses that still exist in the world. Tears of pain for loneliness of the night. Shared joy is increased and shared pain is lessened, the whole point of blogging if'n ya ask me. Beautiful post, thanks Fish.

Posted by: Coelecanth at June 18, 2004 02:04 PM

The past two posts have absolutely floored me. So well written and yet not over done. Actually more then just the past two have. I started reading you because you made me chuckle. Now I stay because you also make me cry. Jimmy V was right, those are two thing that you should do EVERY day.

Posted by: Shawn at June 18, 2004 02:24 PM

one of your better entries fish. well done.

Posted by: hub at June 18, 2004 08:48 PM

For me it's not so much the :act: of :random kindnesses: that make me teary...it's more the fact that those moments stand in stark contrast to so much of the world. The fact that simple kindness is all too often an oddity makes my soul weep. Then again...bearing witness to an act of kindness is a great way to thrust a whack of hope and warm fuzzies back into most anyone's heart!

p.s. Love y'er writing style...and if you find a good :bike shop: be sure to let us know. ;)

Posted by: Miss Swizz at June 19, 2004 03:15 PM

this is such a beautiful post, fish. thank you.

Posted by: julia at June 21, 2004 07:14 PM