I am a people watcher. Not in that weird stalking kind of way. I find that when my environment changes around me I tend to look for the reactions of people around me. This is a good thing when learning to cross streets in New York or Boston, as has been the case the last couple days.
Kacy has received a fellowship to research letters in Boston for the next three weeks. Being the responsible husband – I go with her and go sightseeing in a town I’ve never seen by myself. Instances of following people’s reactions in Boston – like when to cross a busy intersection – have been helpful to my survival here. The city is slightly smaller than the one that I grew up in, but I find myself swallowed by the miles of shops, theaters, museums, restaurants, and libraries without the convenience of a car. So I have adapted and gone underground with the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority.
Many of my days have been filled with finding places on maps so small that they don’t include all of the street names. I have had plenty of time to watch crowds while enjoying a mid-morning snack, sharing the diminutive space of a subway car, or waiting in a line that does not move towards a destination that is often overvalued.
This morning I enjoyed walking into a record shop with an older woman leading a golden retriever. She was not handicapped, but was allowed to bring the over-sized beast into the store because the shop owner believed ‘tying the animal to a post was just cruel.’ I believe allowing the animal to maul through vintage Beatles albums is horrific, but shared the space with the buffalo creature in a shop that could fit in our living room in Mississippi.
Leaving the shop I noticed another large canine lying across the pavement --- all the way across the pavement. The owner was explaining the her St. Bernard puppy would often just stop and lay down and that being petite she could not move him until he decided to get up and go again. I shot a look at the behemoth monster with a recognizable grin a smile, understanding that I would stop and smell the roses every time I was let out of a 700 sq. ft. condo in the middle of Mass. Ave.
Kacy and I walked to Fenway Park after lunch and passed a man who shouted on his phone – “I don’t care if they don’t like it, that’s the way this is going to go – and another thing I don’t like their attitude.” I was curious at whether he was discussing his pizza order or a business deal with Hollywood producers. Conversations like this are common on paved walkways, as people do not greet each other unless they happen to bump into each other. Most of the people I see are students busy looking busy with their cell phones and I-pods that prevent them from still interacting with the real world that is going on around them.
I was inquisitive about the use of I-pods on the subway and thought to try it out, since other tourists sought out conversation from those too forgetful to bring their own source of entertainment on the subway. I noticed instead that I began to hum the tune of the song that was playing in my head instead of looking like the cool Harvard student on the Red Line. I removed my headphones and immediately heard several others with ear phones mildly humming their own tunes in a weird make shift song that sounded very much like a large dog bumping into a sitar-like Beatles album where Paul is pronounced dead. I now understand that all these people traverse the same area I do everyday with their own soundtrack living out their own version of life speaking out passing conversation that could easily be the start a O’Connor story or a movie.
