Tabatha Deans

The Young and the Restless

The Young and the Restless

Daylight saving time has, once again, messed me up. I have found myself wide awake at 4:30 a.m. every day this week, and knowing better than to fight it and try to return to slumber for an hour, I’ve gotten out of bed, enjoyed my coffee and headed out to the train early. Today I headed for the 6:01 H Line, and suspected it was going to be a weird day when I hit the mall to find an unusually large number of people milling about. A couple of tour buses were loading up, and about a dozen homeless people were headed for the shuttle. One particular couple frightened me a little, so I steered clear of them, putting on my headphones and pretending I couldn’t hear anything they were saying as they tried to talk to me.

As I waited for the train, I noticed they stayed pretty close to me. When I moved down the platform a bit to wait they followed. So when the train finally approached, I deliberately waited for them to board, then I walked to the front of the next car to avoid them. I discarded my backpack and set my lunchbag down on the seat, and as I made myself comfortable I noticed three gentleman taking seats around me. One was a middle-aged commuter, book in hand, the other was an older gentleman with wild, thick gray eyebrows, thick glasses and a hoodie. The third was a young man, mid-twenties, in a nice wool overcoat, pressed slacks and leather loafers.

The young man looked at all of us and declared,

“Who’s going to conversate with me?” He looked at me and I politely declined.

“Sorry, this is my quiet time for the day.” I put my headphones back on, but didn’t turn the music on so I could hear the outcome. The commuter remained silent and opened his book, and reluctantly, the old guy in the hoodie took the bait.

“I’ll conversate with you.” They sat down opposite each other on the seats, with the young man’s back to me, his arm hanging over the back of his seat and onto the seat in front of me.

“Tell me something I don’t know. Give me some wisdom, share your thoughts with me.” He begged the senior.

“Well, I had a stroke two years ago, so some parts of my brain are f*&%$d up,” he declared honestly. I noticed then that his left eye drooped slightly. “But I’ll give it a shot. How about this, did you know that black men can’t grow beards?” He headed into a lengthy explanation, but the young man stopped him.

“I think I do already know this, give me something else.” The old man thought for a minute.

“Okay, did you know there are only three elements necessary to build an atomic bomb? And one of them is naturally occurring here in Colorado.” The young man leaned forward on his seat.

“No, now I’m interested.”

I listened to them chat about various subjects for the first few stops, and the young man would turn around and try to engage myself and the commuter in the conversation. I wasn’t in the mood to chat, but soon their conversation turned to conspiracy theories. When the young man turned to me again, I noticed that his eyes were dilated to the point of being black, and he was wearing a wristband from some kind of event. Given his dress, the fact it was 6 a.m., and his excited conversation I deduced that he must be a college student, returning home from a rave where some kind of mind-blowing drug was served. He was passionate and angry about the state of his world, specifically politics, lack of humanity, global warming, and any other subject that would give a young person cause to reflect upon their future. He reminded me of a modern day Merry Prankster.

I tried to ignore him, but it became obvious that the young man needed a lesson in life.

Okay, maybe not so much a lesson as a little messing with his mind. The old man got off the train, and the young man turned to me, not knowing the extend of my conspiracy theory knowledge. He started talking about genetically modified food.

“I know.” I said. He went on to Big Pharma. Did I know there was a cure for cancer? Most all other diseases as well. The federal reserve…

I listened patiently for a few minutes. I had to be a little impressed with his passion. But my stop was coming up, and I needed to make my point. I had heard him tell the old man he was 24, but he didn’t know that. I leaned in close to him and said,

“You’re what? 24 years old?” His eyes grew wide as his overstimulated brain tried to figure out how I knew that. I let him sweat it for a second.

“Look, I’m twice your age, and all the stuff you’re learning now, I already know. But here’s something you don’t know. Be careful fighting big Pharma and Corporations, money can be used to break your legs or kill you. Be careful who you piss off. Don’t sell your soul to Corporate America, and stop smoking before you’re 30.”

I watched his eyes twitch as he silently processed my information. I dug in my bag looking for a piece of scratch paper and a pen. He began shaking his head “yes” vigorously and smiling.

“You are a smart lady. Yeah! You get it. Damn! I knew someone would get it.”

“Oh I get it,” I said, writing on the back of a paper from my bag. “Here’s the name of an organization here in Colorado. They’re grass roots and are fighting for change. They have some videos that will blow your mind, and I think they could use someone like you fighting for their cause.”

“F*&^%n’ A man. Thanks, thanks man. This is all right. The world’s gonna be all right.”

“There’s one more thing,” I said. “Most important.” He leaned in and I handed him the piece of paper I had torn from the top of a page.

“Never, ever, no matter what, trust the media.” He was nodding and thanking me as I got up and exited the train at the Yale station. I saw him looking at the paper I’d given him and couldn’t help but smile.

I had a press release from the White House I had printed out for a story I’m working on, and had used the back of it to print the name of the group for him. The backside of his note included the full logo of the White House, as well as “White House Media Affairs Office” in bold letters.

November 9, 2012 - Posted by Tabatha Stewart | Uncategorized | acid, big pharma, conspiracy theory, denver, drugs, ecstasy, h line, light rail, young